The Switch
by writer-xanthangummy
Summary: There exists something in one world that is does not exist in the other: the love between Zoro and Sanji. So with a freaky-friday style switch, two Zoro's must face alternate universe to fix the imbalance in the world. Boyxboy Zosan Slash
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Oda-sensei owns One Piece and all the lovely characters.

The waitress came to the table, a black bill folder precariously balanced amongst nine fortune cookies. She attempted to smile down at the rowdy table she had been serving all night, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"And here are you're complimentary cookies -" she began, but was cut off when a hand seemed to reach out of nowhere and snatched them all off the plate.

"Oh! More food! Guys, look!" said the raven-haired boy at the table, who had been snatching food from other customers all night.

The blond seated at the table, perhaps the only polite man in this awful group, smacked the boy atop the head. "Only one for you, Luffy!" he screamed. "You can't steal other people's fortunes."

The boy called Luffy pouted but obediently dumped the remaining eight fortunes on the table, where the rest of the members reached out to each take one.

The waitress went to place the bill down on the table but the orange-haired woman sitting there quickly snatched it from her hand and opened it up. Her calculating eyes surveyed the bill rather quickly as a frown began to form on her face. She quickly handed it back to the waitress.

"We would like 90% off," she said in a cool, demanding voice.

The waitress quailed. "Let me...go get my manager," she squeaked, before scampering off. At this rate, she'd beg the manager to just let them go for free as long as they promised to never come back.

"Oi, oi, Nami, you can't do that," Usopp murmured.

"Why not?" she declared. "You should've seen what the bill came to! This place is a total rip-off! Sanji could cook the same food much better."

Sanji overheard these words and broke out into the most sickeningly wide grin. "Thank you my dear Nami-swan! I'm so glad an angel like you appreciates my cooking!"

Nami respectfully ignored him, and cracked open the cookie she had picked up. She smiled as she read it. "You will come into a good fortune soon," she read aloud. Her eyes began to glimmer in the shape of dollar signs. The remainder of the table sighed.

Next to her, the Robin opened hers and then handed the cookie to Luffy, who ate it without so much as a thank you. "A mystery shall reveal itself to you soon," she read. A soft smile graced her face. "I wonder if it'll have to do with those human remains we found at our last dig sight."

Usopp gritted his teeth. "Oi, we're still eating Robin. No talking about human remains, remember?" He then opened his cookie and quickly popped it in his mouth whole before it could be snatched away from him. "There is a great warrior inside of you," he read, before breaking out laughing. "See?" he said to his friends. "Even the fortune knows of the great Usopp-sama!"

"Really?" asked Chopper, sitting beside him, his eyes gleaming.

"Oi, Chopper, stop falling for his lies," grunted Franky, who was hanging off of the side of the booth with his abnormally large body. He cracked open his cookie, which promptly shattered into crumbs under the force of his grip. "You will be incredibly SUPAA this week!" he read, and then jumped up from the table, dangerously jostling the drinks on the table in the process, to strike his signature pose.

Chopper was already munching on his cookie, his fortune discarded. When everyone looked at him expectantly, he said "It said I would save a life sometime soon."

Luffy laughed and clapped his friend on the back. "I guess that the fortune doesn't know you do that everyday!"

Chopper's face turned bright read and he began wiggling in his seat. "Saying that isn't gonna make me happy, you asshole!"

"Yohohoho!" Brook laughed, "Mine says I will brighten someone's day soon, hopefully with my music." He put a long-fingered hand to his chin. "Although I hope that it is a young lady and she likes it enough to show me her panties..."

Sanji shoved the afro-headed man off of his seat. "Shut up, pervert, the way you treat ladies is disrespectful!" He then cracked open his fortune, but as he read it he remained silent.

"Well?" asked Robin, "What does it say?"

A thin line of blood began to leak from Sanji's nose and he grinned wildly. "It says a great beauty will come into my life soon!" He began to twirl flamboyantly in his seat. "Mellorine!" he cried.

As the rest of the table sighed heavily, Luffy pressed his face against the table, whining incoherently. "I wish I hadn't eaten my cookie whole, I didn't know they had little secrets inside."

"Oi, Luffy," Usopp said, "You mean you ate your fortune."

The boy nodded. "It was delicious."

Seated next to him, Zoro sat silently watching all the conversation, a soft smile on his lips that was reserved especially for his nakama. His cheeks were slightly flushed from drinking too much sake, although he'd never admit that, and his stomach was beyond full. Sure, the food wasn't as good as the shit-cook's, but it sure was delicious.

Speaking of the shit-cook, Sanji looked at him and tugged at his sleeve. "And yours, Marimo?" he said. "Or did you lose it?"

Zoro scowled at him as was expected. He snatched the remaining cookie from the table, pulled out the fortune and with one swift motion popped the cookie in his mouth. He heard Sanji, seated next to him, grumble something about how "undignified" he was.

But he could not be bothered, because he was busy reading and rereading the fortune he had received. Instead of being short, it was quite wordy, typed in tiny print so he had to squint to make it out. Eventually he scoffed and pocketed it.

"What's wrong, moss-head?" Sanji asked. "Figured out you can't read?"

"No," he snapped. "It's just weird, that's all."

Sanji's curled eyebrow furrowed and he grabbed the fortune and read it to his friends.

_Two worlds must be in balance, but you have disrupted this harmony. Before the next sun rises, a switch will be made and will not be unmade until the worlds are balanced once more_.

"What the fuck?" Sanji whispered. "That is weird."

Luffy grinned. "Oi, Zoro, looks like you're going to another world tomorrow."

"Shut up, Luffy," snapped Zoro. "That's stupid." Yet he could not shake this uneasy feeling...who the hell would write a fortune like that? And why did he have to be the one to open it?"

ZOSAN

Elsewhere, on the Grand Line, a different Zoro who was surrounded by very similar friends had read the very same fortune. He had no intention of sharing it with his crew, but it was swiftly snatched from his hand by the cook sitting next to him.

The cook laughed as he read it. "Leave it you to fuck up the harmony of the world or some shit, Marimo," he said, before passing it to his crewmates. Zoro grunted at him to shut up, but it was ignored as the rest of the crew read the fortune and began to muse over it.

"It seems like some turn of fate is coming your way, Zoro," said Robin. She stared off into the distance, a morbid look in her eyes. "Perhaps you are actually dead in an alternate universe and have angered the Gods."

Zoro reached across the table and grabbed the fortune from the Strawhat pirate who was currently holding it, Franky. "I told you before," he said stiffly. "I don't believe in God."

"Yohohoho!" Brook laughed from beside Sanji. "Doesn't mean he doesn't believe in you!"

Zoro grimaced at the idiocy of the situation, but as he watched the navigator argue with the manager of the restaurant, he couldn't help but feel unsettled by this odd occurrence. He shook his head ruefully, abandoning the thought. It was unlike him to worry over anything, especially anything superstitious, and he wasn't about to start now.

ZOSAN

It was a half hour later in another world, and the opposite Zoro likewise had replaced thoughts of the fortune with another concern.

"Oi, Marimo, stop it and wait until we get inside," breathed the blond cook as he fumbled desperately for the keys to the flat they shared. Zoro ignored his pleas, though, running his hands greedily up and down Sanji's side, his mouth pecking soft kisses along the man's neck.

Sanji growled as he shoved the key into the lock and twisted furiously, flinging the door open in front of him. Next thing he knew, he was inside the dark apartment, pressed up against the now closed door by the heavy body of his lover.

His hand fumbled for the light switch but before he could find it the green-haired man pressed his groin desperately into Sanji's thigh, eliciting a uncontrolled moan to come from his lips.

"Zoro," he growled, "Fuck..." In the darkness, Sanji groped around until he grasped the other man's chin and brought their lips crashing together. There was no soft pleading of his tongue for entrance, not tonight - their mouths were already deeply intertwined, tongues dancing, both refusing to come up for air.

Still kissing, Sanji wrapped his legs around Zoro, who quickly grabbed his lover by his bottom and ground his aroused length into him, plunging his tongue deep within the other's mouth.

"The bed?" he asked, and the blond nodded in response. Although it was dark, Zoro felt he could see the deep flush he knew would be on Sanji's cheeks by now, which would only grow darker as the night's activities progressed.

Still holding his lover aloft, he walked to the bedroom as Sanji sucked expertly on his neck. He kicked the door open and quickly deposited the man on the bed, before kicking off his shoes and crawling on top of him.

By the city light coming though the windows, whose drapes were left open, Zoro could now see Sanji's flushed and expectant face looking up at him, panting already, his deep blue eyes hungry with lust.

Zoro raised a hand and carressed the side of Sanji's face, a surprisingly gentle act that caused his lover's eyes to widen. Zoro's eyes were now softened as he stroked a piece of golden hair.

"I love you, Sanji," he whispered, his voice deep in his arousal.

Sanji smirked. "I love you, too, Zoro," he said, and then roughly grabbed a handful of Zoro's shirt, dragging him down to kiss him once more.

ZOSAN

A world away, Pirate-Hunter Zoro's night was set to end a bit differently. They had all just sucessfully arrived back at the Thousand Sunny and as he headed to the men's bunk room, a hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and turned him about.

"Nuh-uh, Marimo-kun," the cook teased. "You got watch tonight."

Zoro considered arguing, but his head was too busy swimming in all the alcohol he had drunk tonight. "Whatever," he spat, and turned to make his way up to the crow's nest.

Once he arrived, he pulled out his swords from his haramaki and set them beside him. He gave a quick glance out the window, checking to make sure that everyone else had already turned in, and then crossed his arms over his chest and sat down, falling asleep himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: If I owned One Piece, or any of these characters, I would have to answer to the law for some very dirty deeds... So no, I own nothing.

Zoro woke up with his head spinning. He groaned and threw a hand over his face, shielding his eyes from the light that was pouring into the room. Once his eyes had adjusted, he stretched his limbs out in all directions, yawning loudly. But his yawn was cut short as he felt what lay beneath his hands.

Soft covers of a bed? He was sure he had fallen asleep in the crow's nest last night because he was put on watch by that shit-cook. Perhaps his head wasn't spinning from the alcohol he drank last night...perhaps he had been drugged. With this thought, his entire body tensed, and he reached to his side for his swords but instead found air.

He cursed inwardly. Of course he wouldn't have his swords if he was drugged. Very well - it was time to assess the situation. He opened his eyes.

He was laying on a large bed, covers all ruffled around him, in a relatively spacious room. He was definitely not aboard a ship, as the walls were most assuredly not wooden in design. Next to him was a dark wood nightstand, where a some sort of picture novel was tossed haphazardly, a pair of reading glasses perched on top. Beyond this, there was a wide window, drapes tossed open, through which the sunlight poured in mercilessly.

Zoro's breath caught in his throat. Outside the window there were buildings - tall, tall buildings, buildings taller than any he had ever seen in his life. They were metal and spiky and menacing. He rose cautiously and looked out the window to find that he was in one of these tall buildings, and very, very high up indeed. He had survived many falls that no other man would survive without a scratch, but he knew for a fact that any attempt to jump from this floor would spell certain death for him.

Although the glass from the window was very thick, he could heard the muffled roar from the city outside. Below, there were a thousand vehicles inching along, end to end, a fair percentage of them a glaring golden color. They made an awful racket on top of the grinding and banging noises that were certainly the sounds of construction. But then Zoro jumped, as he heard a noise not muffled through the glass and much closer to him, a noise from inside the flat.

Listening intently, Zoro heard the distinct sound of the clanging of pots and pans and the soft sizzling of some sort of breakfast. As if to prove him right, the scent of freshly cooked eggs and bacon and toasted bread wafted into the room.

Zoro cast his eyes around the room for a potential weapon but saw nothing. Of course no enemy would be that stupid, although he did leave him unbound after drugging him. He must be very arrogant indeed, but Zoro hoped not strong enough to match that attitude.

Weaponless, but fighting stance ready, Zoro cracked the door open and began to creep down the short hall, following the scent and the sound of cooking. After turning the corner, he emerged into a wide room and immediately relaxed his fighting stance.

His surroundings were not familiar at all. There was a large couch, an ornate bookshelf, decorated with framed photos that Zoro could not see due to the glare of the sunlight. There was a large black box that looked like some sort of screen for a surveillance den-den mushi. Beyond this set-up, the wide open room let to a island counter with bar-stool seating, and beyond this, a pristine kitchen complete with four-top stove, an oven and a gigantic stainless-steel fridge.

None of this gave Zoro any comfort, but was he did recognize was the fool who was standing in the kitchen, his back to Zoro, flipping the food that sat in a black pan with a dexterous toss of his wrist.

The blond was not in his usual attire. He was wearing a gray, loose t-shirt and a pair of drawstring black sweatpants, and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. But the rest of him was the same enough, down to the thin stream of cigarette smoke rising above his head. Zoro was sure that once he turned around, he'd see the same stupid curly brow he was used to.

As if on cue, Sanji turned, and as predicted, he had the same curly eyebrow and stupid haircut. But nothing could have prepared Zoro for the endearing grin that Sanji bestowed upon the sight of him.

"Good morning, moss-head," he said in a teasing voice. "I know we had a fun night last night, but you always bring sleeping in to a new level. I didn't expect you to rise before noon." With this greeting, Sanji turned back to his cooking and began to dish out the food on to two plates. Eggs, bacon, and toast, just as Zoro had smelled. He set out one on the island next to what looked like a streaming cup of tea. Although there were more than enough seats, the cook continued to stand as he ate his meal.

Zoro stumbled forward and pulled out the bar stool in front of his food. "Shut up, shit cook," he spat, and began digging into his meal. Sanji laughed in response.

"Always so polite in the morning," he said, and then he did something else weird - _he ruffled Zoro's hair_.

Zoro batted his hand away, which didn't seem to affect Sanji in the slightest. "So where the fuck are we, shit-cook? What kind of island is this?"

There was no response at first. Zoro looked up to see Sanji giving him the oddest look in his life, the look as if he couldn't decide if Zoro was joking or not. Zoro watched him steadily, waiting for the man to shut up and answer, calmly sipping his tea. He noticed in passing that the tea was his favorite kind, a green that was very hard to come by on the Grand Line, and prepared just the way he preferred, without sugar, honey or milk.

Eventually it seemed that Sanji decided he was joking, because he cracked a grin and quipped, "Manhattan, baka, what's with the geography quiz before breakfast is over?"

Zoro rested his fork on top of his plate. It was quite obvious from Sanji's reaction that something was going on, something that Zoro had no recollection of. It was best to just take this in stride, but first things came first -

"Where's the rest of the crew?"

Sanji sipped his coffee and scratched his head in thought. "Er..." he murmured. "Franky is probably at work in the shop, Usopp's probably at home with Kaya, if I had to guess I'd say Robin-chwan and Nami-swan are out shopping, who the fuck knows where Luffy is..."

"Is anyone on the ship?" Zoro pressed.

This appeared to be the wrong question. Sanji looked a bit unsettled as he delicately placed his coffee cup down on the island. Zoro noted that his hands were shaking, and he got a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Zoro," Sanji said, as if talking to a small, scared child, "there is no ship."

Zoro clenched his fists. What had happened? Did it happen because he fell asleep on watch? Were they attacked and overcome - had the Thousand Sunny sank? And how long had he been asleep anyway? Everyone seemed to be all settled in on this island called "Manhattan"...

Zoro jumped as he felt a hand grab under his chin. Sanji lifted his face up and met Zoro's eyes. They seemed unnaturally close to one another. Sanji's eyes searched his face for signs of something, Zoro didn't know what.

"Zoro," he said in that same soft tone. "Why are you acting like this? Did you have a weird dream?"

"That's my line!" Zoro barked, swatting Sanji's hand away. He jumped to his feet. "I remember falling asleep last night on the ship and now we're on some weird island with tall buildings and moving yellow-carts and the ship's gone! Could you tell me what the hell happened, you stupid bastard?"

Sanji's head was lowered, his hair obscuring his eyes. He reached out to the counter with a shaking hand and grabbed a pack of cigarettes, fished one out, and lit it. He did not speak at first, pulling in a deep drag and letting the smoke out, leaning back as he breathed out in relaxation. "Zoro," he said. He spoke in a cold voice now, the voice he reserved for enemies who had harmed his nakama. Zoro never recalled him using that tone of voice with him, and if he was a man of lesser composure, a shiver may have ran down his spine.

"Zoro," the cook continued. "If this is some kind of sick joke, it needs to stop. It's a Friday, and I need to head to the restaurant soon, so I don't need to worry about you rambling like a crazy man, got it?"

Zoro was about to respond that if anyone was rambling like a crazy man, it was Sanji, who wouldn't tell him what happened to the ship and now apparently had a job on this shitty island, but then Sanji lifted his head and Zoro's thoughts ceased immediately at the look on his face. Sanji was concerned, deeply concerned, more concerned than he had even seen the cook over their navigator or Robin. He took another drag of his cigarette before he spoke,

"But if this isn't a joke, then I'll call off work, don't worry about it, Patty can handle it. We'll go see Chopper and get this all worked out."

Zoro sighed. Why did the shitty cook have to look so worried? It was becoming clearer to Zoro what might have happened - somewhere along the line, the ship sunk and now they were stuck on this weird island for a while, maybe working so they had money for a new ship. And apparently Zoro was supposed to already know that, so he could only assume that he had hit his head during some riffraff (that Luffy probably started) and gotten a concussion, knocking these stupid memories from his brain.

"Look, I'm not kidding, ero-cook," Zoro said. "But I guess I probably just got a stupid concussion or something yesterday and forgot some shit. It's no big deal, so can you just fill me in on what's happened."

Sanji cursed and ripped his cigarette from between his teeth, pointing it threateningly at Zoro. "First," he yelled, "if you got a fucking concussion than we need to go see Chopper, end of story. Second, if you bumped your head yesterday you sure as hell didn't tell me, so I'm already pissed off! And third..." he pulled his cigarette back in to take a drag off of it. "What was the last thing you remember?"

Zoro sat back down on the barstool and ran his hand through his hair restlessly. "We landed on some island...you guys stocked up, I stayed on the ship to train with Robin, who stayed to do some reading... and then when everyone came back Luffy insisted we go to some restaurant he had seen that he liked... so we went even though Nami was a witch about the money..."

"Don't talk about Nami-swan like that," Sanji interjected. Zoro ignored him and plowed on.

"And then we walked back...you guys got lost, but I found you again..."

"_We_ got lost?" Sanji asked incredulously. "Sure, sure, marimo."

"Shut up, shit-cook. Then we got to the ship, you said I should take watch, so I did.. and then I...er..." Zoro rubbed the back of his neck, slightly ashamed to admit it, even though he did it every night. "I guess fell asleep while on watch in the crow's nest."

Sanji didn't say anything and continued smoking. Zoro waited expectantly, sure that Sanji had something to tell him that he just wouldn't like to hear. When the cigarette was finished, Sanji put it out in a nearby ashtray, stomping out all the embers with the butt of the stick. "Go sit down on the couch," he said to Zoro. "I'll be there in a minute."

Zoro had half the mind to tell Sanji he was going to sit where he pleased and he could shove his orders up his ass and just answer his damn questions, but Sanji looked so serious, and his fingers were still visibly shaking, and thus Zoro obeyed his request. He walked to the couch and sat down, watching as Sanji picked up a strange black rectangle from the counter and began to press on the front of it in some odd combination.

He raised the rectangle to his face as if it were the receiver of a den-den mushi. After waiting a few seconds he said, "Hello, Patty?"

Zoro tried to place where he heard the name Patty from, but the only one he could remember was some loud mouth red-faced guy that worked at the Baratie with Sanji, and it surely couldn't be him, could it?

"Look," Sanji said, "I need you to get your shitty ass to the restaurant within the next half hour. You're gonna have to run the place by yourself tonight." A tinny-sounding angry voice came from the rectangular device, but Zoro couldn't make out the words. "Look, you think I'm happy about leaving my business in your shitty hands? I got something to take care of." The voice sounded again, inquisitive this time. Sanji sighed and rubbed his arm, as if comforting himself. "It's Zoro," he whispered hoarsely. The voice asked another question. "I really don't know, but he's not hurt...I don't think..." Sanji cast him a furtive glance and then looked away immediately when he felt Zoro stare back. "Look, I just need some time, so just cover for me, will you? Thanks. Thanks. Bye."

The cook placed the weird den-den mushi on the counter and placed his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants before walking slowly over to where Zoro sat. He took his time, sitting down only a cushion away from Zoro, bent forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him.

"Tell me everything," he said.

"What?" asked Zoro.

"Tell me everything," he repeated. "Just tell me whatever you can remember, and I'll listen, I won't say a word. I just need to know what's going on in your head."

"Look, shitty cook," Zoro started, "I really don't want to share all my personal life with you -"

Sanji took a deep breath and clasped his hands together even tighter in front of him until his knuckles turned white. "Just tell me, marimo, or I can't figure out where I should start, okay?" His voice cracked at the end. "I just...I just need you to do this for me."

Zoro's eyes were wide at this point. Sanji's behavior was just too odd, too serious for this to be real. Nevertheless, he really had no choice, as he was in a unfamiliar place with weird devices and no swords and Sanji was his only nakama available.

"Fine," he said, and then he leaned back and began to talk. He told Sanji of how he grew up at the dojo, briefly and mechanically, and then told him about setting out to sea to become the greatest swordsman and defeat Mihawk. He talked of meeting Luffy, Usopp, him at the Baratie, then of Nami and Arlong and Louguetown and going to the Grand Line. He talked of Laboon and Whiskey Peak and Little Garden and Drum Island and Alabasta until his voice was sore. And then he kept talking, about Robin and Sky Island and Water 7 and Enies Lobby and Franky and then Thriller Bark and then Brook. Then, in a bit more detail, he spoke of the island they had landed the night before and the restaurant that had delicious sushi and octopus...

Sanji raised a hand as if to say that he could stop now. Hours had passed and Sanji had not moved an inch. Once Zoro stopped talking, he reached out and grabbed a new smoke and lit it up.

"We're going to go see Chopper," he said. "I don't know where this all came from...but we're not pirates, we have never had a ship, and there is no such thing as the Grand Line."

Zoro didn't know whether to laugh or to hit Sanji, so he just sat there dumbfounded.

"The people you've mentioned...are real...and some of the events sounds similar...But the only swordfighting you do is in a professional arena. And Chopper isn't a reindeer. And Brook may be skinnier than anything, but he's no skeleton. And there are no devil fruits and Luffy can't turn into rubber and Robin doesn't have extra hands..."

"Stop!" Zoro barked. Sanji didn't look up from his morose pose on the couch. "I don't know what the hell you are thinking, but these are my memories they are real enough to me. I'll go see Chopper if it'll make you happy, but then I'm gonna look to find out the truth of what happened."

Sanji sighed, breathing out smoke as he did so. "Okay," he said. "As long as you see Chopper, we'll work it out from there. Go get some clothes on. I'll drive."

Sanji got up and retreated to the bedroom, smoking as he went. Zoro sat there for a second and looked down at himself. Clothes? He thought. He was wearing a pair a sweatpants and no shirt, which is not what he recalled falling asleep in, but how was he supposed to know where his clothes were, or his swords, or his haramaki? Baka cook.

He eventually followed the cook into the bedroom, who was standing there buttoning up a pair of black slacks when he entered. From the way Zoro stood in the door, aloof and still shirtless, Sanji put two and two together.

"Clothes," he said, pointing to a door on the other side of the room. He opened it and walked inside, turning on a switch to illuminate the small walk-in closet. He pointed to the right. "The side that looks like it belongs to a respectable gentleman is my side." Then he gestured to his right. "The side that looks like it belongs to a bum is yours."

"Shut up, curly brow," Zoro said, and he walked toward him, but Sanji stopped him with the flat of his hand at the door to the closet.

"Wait," he said. "I don't know what type of clothes pirates wear, so I'll pick out your clothes." Sanji smirked. "I couldn't have you walking around with an eyepatch and a peg leg, could I?"

Zoro pushed up aside, a bit roughly, but Sanji took it in stride. "Like I'd let you pick out my clothes, dartbrow." Sanji just chuckled and went back to pulling on the white sweater he had picked out. As Zoro fished through the clothes that were supposedly his, he felt rising frustration. There were clearly no haramaki here. They only thing comfortable and normal about this place was Sanji, and even he was acting strange, all serious and concerned about him.

Eventually Zoro settled on a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt and went out to meet Sanji in the main room, which took him a little longer than expected, seeing as he got a little turned around in that walk-in closet and somehow ended up in the bathroom. Regardless, he made it to the front, where Sanji was standing with a scarf around his neck, putting out his cigarette in one of the many ashtrays scattered around the residence.

"Nice scarf," Zoro remarked. "When you gonna come out of the closet?"

For a moment, Zoro could have sworn Sanji winced, but then he replied, without missing a beat, "At least I didn't get lost in there, moss-for-brains."

Sanji turned to leave, but Zoro reached out a hand and stopped him. "Where are my swords?" he asked. "I'm not leaving home without them."

Again, the silence stretched out as Sanji thought of how to respond and for one second Zoro was terrified Sanji was going to say that there are no swords, there never were any swords, and that just may have crushed Zoro's heart. But instead Sanji just turned and pointed to some shelves across the room that Zoro never noticed before. There were three of them, with Sandai Kitetsu on the lowest shelf, Shusui on the shelf above, and then finally Wado Ichimonji resting on the top shelf. Zoro walked over to them and was satisfied to see that they appeared just as well used in this world as they were in his, and that there was not a hint of dust on them from disuse. But as he went to go pick one up, Sanji's hand stopped his.

"No way can you just carry those around the city," he said. "I don't want to have to explain you to the cops while bailing you out, so let's just go."

Zoro grabbed the hilt of Wado Ichimonji protectively. "No way I'm going anywhere without my swords."

Sanji growled and pressed his forehead to Zoro's, "And I'm telling you there's no way you're leaving this apartment with them! It'll cause way too much trouble."

Zoro supposed that Sanji was right, walking around this odd island with swords may draw unwanted attention to them, and Zoro really didn't want to deal with the Marines with no ship and a scattered crew. He left his swords behind, muttering, "Well, it's not like I need them if I need to beat you up, shit-cook."

The bickering that Zoro was so comfortable with continued as they left the flat and began walking down the elevator. Zoro considered asking questions about the odd rectangular box that was supposed to transport them, because he certainly didn't trust bodily entering it, but Sanji seemed to trust it enough, and on this odd island, it was best to take his nakama's lead. Besides, he really didn't want to admit he had no idea what he was doing.

Sanji took him to some odd sort of garage filled with all different types of those mechanical carriages that Zoro had spotted in the street earlier this morning. Sanji took a set of keys from his pocket and walked up to the side of one, sticking the key in some lock beside his hip. Since he had stopped so suddenly, Zoro crashed into him. Sanji looked up, slightly miffed.

"I told you I was driving, baka," he grumbled. "Get in the passanger seat, it's unlocked." Sanji gestured to the other side of the contraption and Zoro walked over there. Thankfully, the door handle was easy enough to spot and by then he could see that he just needed to sit in those low-placed seats next to Sanji.

Sanji used to key again to turn on something within the machine. Absentmindedly, Sanji reached across Zoro's body and pulled something gray across him, fastening it next to Zoro's left hip. Zoro pulled at the gray strap experimentally and it snapped back across his body when he released it.

"Seatbelt, dumbass, so you don't lose any more brain cells than you already have," Sanji said as he reversed the mobile.

"I knew that," Zoro muttered but it sounded more like an lie than Usopp's wild stories.

Sanji did not respond and Zoro tried hard to look disinterested as they continued to drive through the city on this wild island called Manhattan. The tall buildings, the signs, the traffic, and the people! So many people!

It was only fifteen minutes or so later that they pulled down a side street and into a lot. The apartment complex that they were entering was just as nice as the one Zoro and Sanji lived in, and Zoro began to wonder why they were buying such nice places to live but still hadn't replaced the boat - and then he recalled that Sanji believed that was never a boat, and thus put this idea to rest.

Chopper lived on the fourth floor, and he sounded like he had just woken up but he buzzed them in. Their suspicions were confirmed when Chopper answered the door still dressed in his pajamas - or at least, Sanji's were. Zoro was staring with his mouth just slightly agape.

His shock was attributed to this: Chopper was, as Sanji had said, a boy, not a reindeer. He sounded like Chopper, moved like Chopper, acted like Chopper in every way, but he was a short, urchin-looking, mousy-haired boy who looked no older than sixteen.

"What's up?" Chopper asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Sanji rubbed his head affectionately as he walked into the apartment, Zoro following behind. "Sorry to wake you," he said, "I know it's your first day off in forever, but Zoro has some..problems..." Sanji trailed off.

Chopper turned to Zoro with wide eyes, as if expecting the man to be bleeding from the ears. When he saw no visible surface wounds, he relaxed. "What is it?" he asked.

Sanji walked into the small kitchenette and began to fix Chopper a cappuccino the way Chopper liked it: very sweet and with lots of steamed milk. "Memory problems," he explained. "He remembers people, some events, but all different. You see, he thinks he's -"

"A pirate," Zoro finished. "I am a pirate. All of us are, right, Chopper?"

Chopper looked up a Zoro blankly, and then back at Sanji. "He's serious?" he squeaked.

Sanji nodded. "No need to rush," he said, handing Chopper to finished beverage. "I called out of work, so I'll be willing to run him to get some blood work and other tests done later if you think it's necessary. I just wanted to check in with you first."

Chopper sat down. "I mean, I'm no psychiatrist, Sanji, but I guess I'll check it out."

Sanji patted Chopper affectionately on the shoulder. "Thanks, Chopper...thanks."

Over the next couple of hours, Zoro was asked a dizzying amount of questions, poked, prodded and had blinding lights shown in his eyes more time that he could count. Then he was told to sit on the couch and wait quietly while Sanji and Chopper discussed things in private, which irritated him even more. Eventually sick of his complaining, Sanji showed him what a TV was, which slightly bewildered Zoro, but after a couple of minutes, Zoro had gotten used to it and was flipping channels with ease.

Sanji and Chopper finally came out of the room an hour and a half later, both looking a little put out. When Sanji glanced at the TV screen he remarked, "Of course you'd be watching this."

Zoro sneered at him. "What?"

"Seven Samurai," Sanji said, "it's your favorite movie, right?"

Zoro looked back at the screen and considered the plot line, despite the clearly fake swordsmanship. "Yeah," he said. "I think it is."

Sanji scooped the remote off the table and turned it off. "Oi!" Zoro yelled, but Sanji met the rising fist with his heel as though he was expecting it.

"Shut up," he said, "Chopper's not sure of what's going on, so we're gonna go to the hospital and get some blood work done. Got it?"

Zoro growled. "I'm sick of all these tests. I'm telling you, I'm fine, and you're the ones who are all messed up."

Sanji pulled Zoro up from the couch swiftly by the collar of his shirt, lifting him nearly in the air. Zoro glared down at the shitty cook, just daring him to lay another hand on him, but Sanji didn't. He simply placed the swordsman back on his feet.

"Look," he said. "I know you're confused right now and don't believe a lot of what I'm saying. But regardless, one thing is the same. _I'm your nakama_. Okay? So can you just trust me right now? Like nakama do?"

Zoro looked at Sanji, whose fingers were itching for a cigarette and who was obviously just as tired and frustrated from today's ordeal as he was. Then he glanced at Chopper, who had been watching the entire exchange nervously. The boy eventually met Zoro's gaze with a pleading look in those familiar big brown eyes.

"Okay," Zoro surrendered. "But I want booze tonight." He paused. "And onigiri."

Sanji just chuckled in return as he made his way to the door, jangling his keys. "And onigiri? Don't push it, baka."

_(Next chapter: The Zoro from this world wakes up in the One Piece Universe!)_

Read and review! No flames please!

Sorry for an OOC-ness, by the way, but I do believe Sanji and Zoro may act a little different because of the odd situation, and Sanji especially because of his relationship with Zoro.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Oda owns One Piece. This is just one of my many forms of Oda-worship.

(this isn't revised yet, either, guys...sorry, I'll get around to it soon!)

Zoro regretted waking up the moment he did so. His mouth was dry, his muscles sore and his head heavy and throbbing. Definitely a hangover. He would never an extra serving of the baka cook's eggs and bacon this morning and maybe even steal a sip of his coffee to get through this... The thought of stealing some of Sanji's coffee brought a faint smile to the swordsman's lips, as his lover detested it every time he did it. The cook always kicked at him and whined that if he wanted coffee so bad, that he'd brew some for him; but the cook didn't get it, Zoro didn't want coffee, and didn't even like it.. he just wanted Sanji's coffee, because it had touched that curly brow's delicious lips.

Not that he'd ever tell the ero-cook that. As if he needed more compliments to inflate his ego.

Rejuvenated with the promise of breakfast, Zoro opened his eyes and then promptly shut them.

Wrong. Something was wrong.

He took a deep breath before opening his eyes again and surveying the room. It was circular and wooden-walled, with windows all around at waist level. He had been sleeping up against the wall, which explained all the soreness in his muscles. Furthermore, the only other items in the room with him were an array of heavy weights and his three katanas.

It was the katanas that caused Zoro the most trouble to rationalize. He could understand getting drunk and waking in an odd location, in odd clothing, with no recollection of the night before. (Although he had fallen asleep in his bed with the love cook last night, hadn't he?) But Zoro could not bring himself to settle upon any reason why he would have his swords with him after a night of drunken reverie. No matter how far gone he was, he respected his katanas more than that, didn't he? Besides, if he was going to be carrying around his weapons he would need to have his license for them on him, and he could not discern any form of ID in his pockets, not even the disappointing bulge of an empty wallet.

And where was the shitty cook? He groaned and cradled his head as a particularly bright beam of sunlight hit his face, causing his temples to throb without remorse for their owner. No shitty cook meant no breakfast, no coffee, and no hangover cures.

Nevertheless, Zoro knew he wouldn't discover anything by laying around all day and struggling to make memories come to the surface - thinking was never his forte anyway. Besides, if he was going to sort out whatever mess he made last night, he might as well start early so he could be home by dinner.

It was only after standing up that Zoro realized it was an optimistic thought to dream of being home for dinner. He looked out the panoramic view windows and saw a collection of interesting and befuddling things: first, the ocean, and he didn't mean the green-tinted Jersey shore waters or the murky Hudson River, he meant a big, blue, transparent ocean. Second, a shore, and not a shore with a normal port for trade liners and cruise ships, but a beach-styled shore that seemed to lead into some sort of oddly vegetated forrest. But the third thing Zoro saw made him bend down and pick up each of his three swords, depositing them silently and seriously into the haramaki he appeared to be wearing.

It was a pirate mark emblazoned across a great white sail. Class skull and crossbones topped with a straw hat, which made Zoro think, in passing, of the stupid straw hat that Luffy always wears. And underneath the pirate mark was the signs of what type of residence Zoro had slept in the night previously: a ship. A bona fide, wooden ship with a rudder and sails and a crow's nest that he apparently was sitting in right now.

Zoro expended a good deal of his remaining brain power for the morning trying to figure out why an old pirate ship would exists, let alone why he would be on it, seemingly in the middle of nowhere with his swords and no baka cook, but when no clear answer seemed to be forthcoming, Zoro decided there was only one way to solve this: ask questions, get answers, and cut anyone who got in his way.

Then get home to his stupid blonde cook and sleep this damn hangover off.

With this decision in mind, Zoro found the exit to the crow's nest easily enough and began to climb deftly down the rigging toward the deck below. The deck was oddly covered in a beautiful lawn of perfect green grass, and by the fore of the ship there was what appeared to be a mikan grove. Even more quaint, there was a tree in the far corner from him, complete with a wooden swing on the strongest branch.

But Zoro had abandoned attempting to reason his odd surroundings. He merely filed this information aside in case a fight broke out. After all, he would never hear the end of it if he had to take a hit because he tripped on a stupid swing.

For what Zoro could see, there was no one else on the deck of the ship, which made sense, seeing as the sun had barely risen. He considered tying his swords to the top of his head and making a break for shore - it wasn't that far of a swim - when he heard the most familiar voice he could in such a strange place.

"Oi! Assholes! Get up, breakfast is ready!" There were a series of sounds that Zoro recognized as heels of a certain blond man hitting the tops of heads. Then the voice added: "But don't touch a thing until lovely Nami-swan and Robin-chwan arrive, or I'll beat you bakamonos to a pulp!"

Zoro nearly smiled, but it was far too early for that and he still had a hangover, so he settled for a relax in his stance as he took his hands of the hilt of his swords. Wherever he was, the shit cook was here and he had made breakfast, so everything, if not fine right now, would be soon.

And that was when the same Sanji he thought he had fallen asleep next to last night burst through the door of what Zoro assumed was the galley and called out, "Oi, actually awake, shitty moss head?"

Zoro grunted an affirmative, returning the ero-cook's scowl.

"Well then come get some breakfast, you shitty bum," he paused to take a drag off his cigarette, "I'm not gonna serve it to you on a silver-shitty-platter."

The cook turned around and went back into the galley, and when the door finally closed, Zoro allowed himself to smile. He didn't know who they were eating breakfast with, but when that was over and they were alone, which would likely involve Zoro helping him wash dishes, then Zoro could admit to Sanji that he must have gotten totally trashed the night before and ask him for a fill-in.

At the thought of this inevitable occurrence, Zoro winced. The man would tease him about this for weeks. Maybe he should just try to bullshit that he remembered? ...But then Zoro looked back up at the Jolly Roger and decided that unless he developed story-telling skills akin to Usopp, there was no way that he could lie his way through this one.

As Zoro climbed the stairs to the galley, he saw Luffy and Usopp leap out of the room he had just passed, dragging behind them a rather odd-looking plush doll with horns like a reindeer. They did not acknowledge Zoro, but instead rushed past in their haste for breakfast. Zoro followed behind at a steady pace, trusting that, despite Luffy's appetite, Sanji would keep him in line to make sure there was enough food for everyone.

And sure enough, as he arrived, there was still plenty of food on the table. Zoro sat down in front of what he assumed was his plate, bacon and eggs and toast and a cup of tea, and began to nurse his hangover out of existence.

Without looking up, Zoro heard others enter the room. First Robin and then Nami, who both thanked the cook for the meal and their gratitude was reciprocated with the typical overdosage of swooning. Following this, he heart Franky say something about feeling especially SUPPERR this morning, and then the distinct sound of Brook's laughter.

"Oh, this food looks so delicious it brings a tear to my eye," Brook said - far too cheerful for such an early hour. "Although...I don't have any eyes."

Zoro paused and set down his fork. Brook's corny jokes usually took him a second or so to get but...what he correct in thinking that this one made absolutely no sense?

That's when Brook said "Skull joke!" and Zoro heard Luffy and a voice that sounded like Chopper - but Chopper wasn't here was he? - chorus him clapping his hands.

No, absolutely no sense at all. So Zoro looked up.

It was in this moment that Zoro was very glad he had a tan complexion, because he didn't want anybody to know that all the blood had currently drained from his face. According to Zoro's 20/20 vision, he was sitting across from a moving, talking skeleton that sounded like Brook, next to a stuffed doll that sounded like Chopper, and Luffy's arm had just stretched across the table and grabbed food from Usopp plate, which was a feat physically impossible by any reach of the imagination.

He pinched himself. It hurt. Then he looked farther down the table and saw Franky with arms the size of bazookas and a metal nose and decided it couldn't hurt to try to pinch himself again.

Once it became clear to Zoro that if he continued to pinch himself, dream or not, he'd have some pretty odd bruises, he started to think of what else could cause him to see such odd things, and of course - he was drugged. He must be hallucinating.

That would explain why he thought he was on a pirate ship, why Luffy's arms were stretching, why Brook was a skeleton, and yet everybody was acting as though things were normal. It must be some sort of visual hallucination.

The first thing Zoro decided was that he should stop eating. If he couldn't trust his senses, how would he know when he was eating eggs and when he had started to much on the fork instead? Secondly, Zoro decided he should probably tell somebody, even if he was ashamed that somebody had gotten past his defense to drug him.

Pushing his plate away and setting his fork down, Zoro waited for a lull in the rowdy conversation, which happened when Luffy swallowed too much at once.

"Everyone," he said softly and seriously. All the gazes in the room turned to him, which was probably due to the fact that he very rarely spoke more than a word or two in the morning. "I think I'm hallucinating. I think I've been drugged."

Luffy's jaw dropped, way farther than was natural and the stuffed Chopper screamed, "What? A doctor, we need a doctor!"

"That's you, Chopper," said Usopp, as a friendly reminder.

"Oh, yes," Chopper said. He then leapt off his chair and tottered over to Zoro, looking into his eyes analytically, which Zoro took in stride despite the fact he hated, and would always hate, being examined by doctors, even if it was Chopper.

"What makes you think you are hallucinating, swordsman-san?" asked Robin.

Zoro grimaced. "Just that since I woke up I've been seeing things that can't possibly be real." He didn't feel like elaborating; the hallucinations could be taken as a reflection of his thought processes, and he didn't want anyone to know that he thought Chopper resembled a cute, stuffed reindeer.

But of course, Luffy had to ask: "Like what, Zoro, ne?"

Zoro looked around the room, trying to pick out which hallucination was the least offensive. "Brook looks like he's a skeleton," he explained.

For a second, everyone froze, and he feared that perhaps Brook actually did have some odd weight loss problem that he had touched upon, but then everyone burst out laughing, and Chopper took his tiny hooves off Zoro's face and sat back down.

"Yohohoho, Zoro, you really got us there!" Brook said.

"Yeah, swordsman-bro," Franky laughed, wiping tears from his eyes, "for a second we were all really worried about you."

Zoro felt frustrated - why was nobody taking him seriously? "No, really!" he said. "In my eyes, Brook looks like a literal skeleton, with no skin or flesh."

Everybody continued laughing, though, but Nami, who apparently didn't seem to find it so funny, said, "I would hope he looks like an actual skeleton, Zoro, seeing as that's what he is."

"Why is nobody taking me seriously?" Zoro snapped, and he stood up from his seat. The group stopped laughing and turned their eyes to him.

And that was when Zoro smelled the smoke that was being blown right in his face. "Stop it with the stupid joke, marimo, it's not funny anymore," Sanji spat. "And sit down and eat before your food gets cold."

Zoro scoffed. "I'm not hungry, shithead." He turned to leave. "Since you guys won't take me seriously, I'll just try to sleep it off."

But a rough hand grabbed Zoro's shoulder from behind and whipped him around. "Eat," growled Sanji, right in Zoro's face.

Zoro knew it was a bad idea to fight with Sanji over food, but he was just so aggravated with all the weirdness that he couldn't stand another moment of satisfying the cook's pet peeves. "Look," Zoro said, prying Sanji's fingers from his shoulder, "just feed it to Luffy, I'm not gonna starve."

But as he was prying Sanji's fingers from his shoulder, he paused. He kept the cook's hand in his grip and looked down at each finger on the left hand experimentally, and felt up and down each digit.

"What the fuck, moss head?" Sanji said, snatching his hand back protectively.

Zoro looked up at Sanji's face, trying to see if there was any give-away in his expression, but Sanji just looked plain angry, as he always did when they bickered. Perhaps this was another part of his hallucinations?

"Whatever," Zoro said. "Just can somebody show me to somewhere to lay down, because according to my eyes it looks like we're on some damn wooden pirate ship."

"Don't call it a 'damn' ship!" Franky yelled from behind him, but then the automatic reaction of the large cyan-haired man fell into complete silence, as everyone looked baffled.

"Why wouldn't we be on a pirate ship, Zoro?" asked Usopp very quietly.

Zoro looked all around at his friends, who now finally were giving him looks of concern, but their questions seemed to be backward. "Because...we live... in Manhattan?" Zoro replied, and then felt like kicking himself for sounding so unsure. Of course they lived in Manhattan, they had lived there for years upon years.

"What's Manhattan?" Luffy asked, mouth stuffed full of the last of everyone's breakfasts that he nabbed when they were all shocked.

"You know, baka," said Zoro, "The borough of New York City we live in..."

Blank faces.

Zoro crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine, you tell me. Why are we on a pirate ship." Although it was worded like a question, it came out as a demand. It was clear to everyone around him that he was no longer, if he was ever, kidding around. The dangerous green-haired man wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

"Because," Luffy said, wiping his mouth clean to reveal a toothy grin. "We're the Strawhat pirates, and I'm your Captain and you're my first mate, Zoro!"

"And I'm the navigator," Nami said.

"And I'm the sniper," explained Usopp.

"And I'm the doctor!" Chopper exclaimed. "Even though I'm a reindeer!"

"And I'm our certified cyborg shipwright!" Franky pointed at himself with an oversized thumb. "SUPER!"

Zoro held up a hand to stop them, because it appeared that they wanted to continue introducing themselves. But he could no longer listen, since the only feeling that was closing in on him was something that he had rarely felt before. Not even when he was bleeding to death, not even when he was hopelessly lost. What he was feeling, he believed, was panic. It was blackening his vision, racing in his veins, and nearly causing him to sway on his feet.

"I have...no memory of this..." he looked around at the crew and then finally up to the blond man right next to him, his lover, Sanji. "Sanji?" he asked. He knew that by the tone of his voice, his lover who knew him better than anyone else would know how he was feeling, would know how to help him. But as soon as he spoke the man's name, the cook looked up, his blue eyes wide, as though he had never heard Zoro call him by his name before.

"Chopper," Sanji said suddenly, still looking at Zoro with wide eyes. "Why don't you take a look at Zoro in the infirmary and see if he got a concussion or poisoned or something?"

Chopper nodded and walked over, placing his little hoof in Zoro's hand, and began to lead him to the back of the dining room, passed his stony-faced nakama, and into the room behind it, which turned out to be a small sick bay complete with a bed. As the door shut behind them, Zoro suddenly felt very, very alone.

ZOSAN

It was a couple hours later, and Zoro was sitting on the bed in the sick bay, elbows on his knees and hands cradling his head. Chopper had left him alone after examining him and explaining things to him. At first, Zoro had thought it was all part of an elaborate joke, but the more he felt Chopper's real hooves on his skin, the more he saw Chopper transform, and the more he heard Chopper's sad yet honest voice, the more he began to believe it.

Devil fruits, pirates, marines, a world with no continents except something called the "Red Line." Mermaids, ghosts, warlords and sea monsters. Luffy was rubber and Brook was a skeleton and Chopper was a transforming reindeer and Robin had extra hands for some reason. Phones were apparently talking snails and Chopper had to explain three times that there was no such thing as cars or planes or New York City.

As much as Zoro wanted it to be fantasy, as much as he wanted to deny it, it just seemed too real. He could believe Luffy and Usopp and Franky and maybe a few others taking off to sea in some whacky boat and claiming to be pirates, just maybe, but Robin? Nami? Sanji and himself? They all had lives and jobs in Manhattan and were responsible people. Sanji would have never abandoned his restaurant. It just didn't make any sense.

Zoro's spiraling thought process was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in," he muttered, just loud enough for the other person to hear.

He could tell without looking up that his visitor was Luffy just by the footsteps. "Hello, Captain," he said morosely.

Luffy chuckled in his signature laugh. "Oi, Zoro," he said. "I know you don't remember it, but you were the first to join my crew."

Zoro looked up. "Really?" He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. "Because from what I remember, in the world I remember, I killed people who did bad things like piracy for a living."

Again, Luffy laughed. "But we're not like other pirates," he said. "We just like adventures." He paused and rubbed his chin in what may be the most thoughtful pose he had ever seen on the young man. "Although you didn't want to join at first." He then laughed loudly, slapping his knee. "I suppose I sort of blackmailed you into it!"

Shaking his head, Zoro laughed lightly. Yes, although the rules of reality seemed all backward, the people he knew and loved sure were the same.

They went on for a bit like this, the two oldest of friends. Luffy telling him ridiculous stories of their time together, mostly broken narratives that made very little sense, with characters named "Smoky-man" and "Buffoon Nose", and Zoro listening patiently, and laughing occasionally when he heard something that was far too ludicrous to believe or just too typical of his nakama to _not_ be true.

Eventually, as the stories were winding down, Zoro sat back up and put his hands on his knees and made as if to stand. "Well," he said, "this is fun, but we can talk anytime. I really should go see Sanji, though, and see if he's okay."

Luffy's eyebrows furrowed. "Why wouldn't he be okay?"

"Not like that, baka," Zoro said, lightly punching at Luffy, who just bounced back under his fist. Eerie. "But I'm sure he's all upset thinking he won't get laid just because we have different version of reality right now."

"Laid?" Luffy asked, and he was back to rubbing his chin again.

Zoro sighed heavily, tempted to roll his eyes, but he recalled that Luffy, although his best friend, was a man he respected and, according to the rest of his nakama, his Captain, so it would be best to avoid direct disdain. "C'mon, Luffy, I've talked to you about the birds and the bees before."

"Oh, like sex," Luffy said, hitting his open right palm with his left fist as though he'd made a genius discovery.

"Yep," Zoro said, now standing and going to the door, but as his hand was on the knob, Luffy asked a question that seemed a bit odd.

"But why would Sanji be sad? What does you agreeing with him have to do with him getting sex?"

After a minute, Zoro laughed. Luffy probably thought that since they fought all the time but slept together at night anyway that "agreeing" had nothing to do with their romantic relationship, and honestly, he was probably right. "Yeah, Luffy, you're right. We fuck when we disagree too." He reached out to pat at Luffy's head and ruffle his hair and all of the sudden there was a tight grip around his wrist and Luffy was lowering Zoro's hand away from his face.

Luffy looked at Zoro with a face blank and dead-serious. His straw hat slightly shadowed his eyes, and when he spoke, it was deep and nearly monotone. "Zoro," he said, "You have never had sex with Sanji."

Zoro almost laughed, but then he bit the corners of his mouth as the past couple of hours stood again in the forefront of his mind. "What?" he asked, his voice dripping in poison, a warning that Luffy should give him a full and honest answer.

"Zoro, no matter what you believe, this is one thing I know. You and Sanji do not have sex." He set both his hands on his knees. "You do not kiss. You are not lovers."

All the swordsman could do was repeat himself - "What?"

But before Luffy could answer, the ship was rattled by the sound of Usopp shouting through the loudspeaker: "MARINES! ALL HANDS ON DECK!"

Zoro and Luffy both made for the door out of the infirmary, and then Luffy grabbed his wrist once more and asked Zoro,

"Can you fight?"

Here, Zoro could finally grin: his sick, sadistic grin that set many people on edge, but Luffy just returned it with an even wider smile, stretching from eye to scarred eye. It was answer enough for the rubber man.

"Good," said his Captain, and they rushed out on deck.

_(Next chapter we see how Pirate Hunter Zoro copes with his strange world - can he learn to accept it? Also, just as a tease I'll let you know this probably won't be all romance... I'm adding a lot of different plot points in here despite the main romance line, so beware! You perverts may have to wait a bit for your smutty-smut-ness!)_


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, I love you all! You motivate me! and also,

Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. If I did, I would be the Pirate King.

The one hundred and twenty million bounty head, Pirate Hunter Zoro, was not amused. He was wearing nothing but a hospital gown, which in this world they seemed to have no respect for people's backsides, and he had been in the hospital for too many hours to count. Sanji had answered most the medical questions, dealt with something called "health insurance", and filled out the majority of the forms. Although Zoro did wonder how Sanji knew everything from Zoro's blood type to his weight, he decided not to argue with it, seeing as he didn't understand half the questions on the dumb forms anyway.

That, and he wasn't that good at writing. Never really had to do it much. Not that he'd tell anybody that.

Now Sanji was sitting next to him, bitching at him to shut up and that there was only one more test to do. According to him, this time they were going to stick him in some big machine and it was going to take pictures of his insides. And he couldn't move the entire time he was in there. Zoro figured this was fine though; he could just go to sleep.

They were just getting him ready for it, as he was walking into the room, when a nurse grabbed his shoulder. "Wait," she said, "No metal allowed in there. So no jewelry. Take it all off."

Zoro groaned. He didn't remember the last time he ever took out his three gold earrings, and he was pretty sure it wasn't going to be a pretty ordeal. But as he took them off, he was surprised to see they were relatively clean, as well as his ear, as though somebody took care of them regularly.

"See?" he heard Sanji say, "Isn't it good I make you take them out every once and while and clean them? Tch, I swear you would've let them meld into your body if I hadn't stopped you."

"You don't get to lecture me with those curly eyebrows, cook," Zoro snapped back.

Before Sanji could respond, the nurse said. "All of your jewelry, sorry, sir."

Zoro was confused, and looked to where she was signaling - his left hand. And there, on the ring finger, was a simple gold band. "What?" he whispered to himself. It wasn't like him to wear rings or really anything else besides his earrings. He slipped the ring off and placed it into the nurse's hand. "Where did I get that?" he asked Sanji.

Sanji reached for his pack of cigarettes and then visibly stopped himself, seeing as he couldn't smoke inside. He shrugged, turning away rather quickly. "I don't know everything about all the ugly stuff you wear, marimo, don't ask me."

Although it seemed like a reasonable excuse, as the nurse pushed Zoro into the room and to lay down on the cot, he couldn't help but feel that Sanji was somehow lying.

ZOSAN

It was an hour later, and Sanji was nervously flipping his keys in his hand as he and Zoro walked back to the car. By this point, it was dinnertime and both of them had hardly eaten all day. But both young men were far too aggravated with each other to say anything about it.

"Oi, see, I told you, baka," Zoro started. "There was nothing wrong with me."

Sanji's building anger was coming off him like heat as he mumbled to himself, "Can't believe you..." he said. "The way you treated those lovely lady nurses...no sense of manners..."

"Do you think Chopper's worried?" Zoro asked, but Sanji wasn't listening.

"Embarrassed to be with you, no respect for women..."

"Oi! Cook! Are you even listening to me!"

Sanji looked up at Zoro with a distant gaze in his eyes, as if he was seeing right through him. "Oh, yeah, I guess I'll shoot Chopper a text and let him know what's up."

Zoro didn't bother to ask what a text was. He would just get the same broken and nonsensical explanation that he got about cars, planes, MRIs, computers and some sort of musical vegetable called an I-pod.

As they got in the car, Zoro scratched at the back of his head and he realized something was missing - "Oi, cook, I forgot my earrings."

"Oh," Sanji said. He reached into his pocket. "Here they are."

Zoro popped them back in and caught his reflection in the side view mirrors. He still looked the same, unlike Chopper had, with the same dark complexion and green hair and the same scars on his body. It hardly made sense. He looked down at his hands, which were still strong and callused from swordplay and fighting...but actually, now that he looked carefully, where was the rope burn from pulling on the rigging two days ago during that storm? Where were the splinters from being kicked into the floor of the dining room a week ago when he tried to steal extra sake?

"What about that ring I had?" Zoro asked.

Sanji fumbled around in his pockets half-heartedly. "Guess I lost it."

Zoro suddenly felt furious. He grabbed Sanji by the color of his stupid cashmere sweater and shook him violently. "You don't just lose people's stuff, baka! Now where the fuck is it?"

Sanji pried Zoro's fingers from his collar, but Zoro refused to budge. Eventually Sanji gave up - in leg strength, Sanji had the upper hand, but when it came to brute force of the upper body, there was no escaping Zoro's grip.

"I didn't take you one to be worried about valuables like dear, sweet Nami-san," he replied bitingly.

Zoro shook him. "I don't give it shit if it was real gold or copper, but if I was wearing it, then it was mine, and you can't just lose it -"

"Why do you care?" Sanji snapped back. "It's not like it had any meaning for you!"

Zoro nearly shuddered. Sanji was using the cold voice again that he very rarely heard. His teeth had already bitten off the butt of the cigarette he had been smoking and Zoro was aware the the flame was burning a hole in the carpet of the car. He released Sanji's collar.

"Whatever," he said. "But it probably did have meaning, baka cook."

Sanji stuck his keys in the ignition and mumbled, "Doesn't matter if you can't remember it." Zoro pretended he didn't hear him and leaned back in his seat to go asleep.

ZOSAN

"Hey." Zoro's shoulder shifted as he was nudged. He ignored it though. He was exhausted, not so much in the body but more in the mind.

"Hey," the voice repeated, insistently shaking his shoulder. Steeling himself to deal with whatever bullshit the cook wanted to feed him this time, Zoro opened his eyes. He was still in the car seat, but the car was parked outside of what appeared to be a rather small, quaint place called "Itadakimasu." Sanji was leaning over him, still poking him with the end of his index finger.

"I figured you were hungry," he said. "And you like this shitty place, for some reason."

Zoro looked from the sign to the cook and then back again. "I don't like your food?" he asked, and then immediately regretted it. His sleep addled brain had let those words slip out, even though Zoro had adamantly denied ever complimenting Sanji's cooking. Although the shit-cook made some the best dishes he had ever tasted, he refused to praise him, seeing as his blond head was already bloated enough. But he had just slipped up, and someone as arrogant as Sanji would definitely take the question as a compliment.

But Sanji just frowned and sat back in his seat. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I just don't feel like cooking tonight."

If almost complimenting the cook had not woken Zoro up, this most certainly had. Zoro looked at the blond with wide eyes, who was just sitting despondently in his seat, tracing circles into the steering wheel with his fingers. Sanji...didn't feel like cooking? Zoro was pretty sure that if there were enough supplies, they could never get the man to stop cooking. After all, didn't he serve the crew breakfast, lunch, dinner, as well as snacks and special drinks every day, like clockwork?

Sanji looked up at Zoro's expression and wearily shook his head. "Don't look at me like that," he said. "I'll pay, okay? Just...just let's go in."

Zoro obliged, and after freeing himself from that gray band called a seat belt, he got out of the car and joined Sanji walking up to the main entrance. But all the while, he kept sneaking glances at the cook, and was more surprised with each look. Had he ever seen the cook so defeated before? Even when he was kicked to a pulp and bleeding from what seemed like a thousand wounds, even when he was _walking to his death,_ he had never seen the cook look this broken down. When things got rough, Sanji got rough back. The angrier the world got at Sanji, the angrier Sanji got at the world. What had made Sanji feel like giving up?

Where was Luffy when you needed the damn kid? Nobody could feel like giving up with that brat around.

They walked into the restaurant. It was a quiet place with western-styled seating, all the tables rather cramped and small. In the front by the hostess, there was some sort of tacky water fountain that wasn't operating at all. Besides that, the place was decorated with various paintings from the Edo period, no doubt all cheap copies. Zoro could see why Sanji loathed to walk into this place; the decor was tasteless, at best. But Zoro could also see why he was professed to like it. The table nearest to the door had a dining couple, and from the entrance he could see the portions here were not meager when it came to sake or white rice. He could feel his mouth salivating at the thought. It had been a while since he ate, right?

"Ah! Roronoa-san! Okaerinasai!" chimed the hostess. Although he spoke Zoro's name, she was looking directly at Sanji.

Sanji fulfilled his role to the fullest. He swirled to the hostess and grabbed her delicate hand, barely brushing it with his lips in the softest kiss. "Ah, mademoiselle, it is always a pleasure to be in your company."

The hostess giggled demurely. "Same table as always?" she asked, politely refraining from responded to Sanji's swooning.

"If that would be possible, my dear lady," Sanji said, but the women had already turned and was swiftly leading them from the door through the maze of white-clothed tables to a small one, set for two, in the darkest and most remote corner of the dining room. Zoro sat down in the side facing the wall - it was always best to see enemies coming - and Sanji sat across from him. The hostess handed Sanji a menu but bypassed Zoro, and then left saying "Miyako will be right with you."

Zoro grunted as she scurried off. "What, do you have to be a womanizer to get a menu around here?"

"No, but it couldn't hurt," Sanji said. He opened his menu and flipped through it, his eyes barely scanning each page before he turned to the next one. "But she didn't give you a menu because you always get the same thing: a huge serving of rice balls and crab sushi. And a bottle of their cheapest sake." His face contorted into a scowl just at the thought of it.

"Sounds good," Zoro said, pulling his chopsticks out of the cheap little paper sleeve they were wrapped in.

"Of course you would say that," Sanji bemoaned. "You lose your memories and replace them with ridiculous ones, but you can't replace your eating habits?"

Zoro studied his hands once again, looking for the rope burns, the splinters that were never there. Yet, he did see a tan line around his left ring finger where that gold band had been. "My memories are real," he said, assuring himself more than speaking to Sanji, not that the cook needed to know that. "But I know that this world is real also."

At that moment, the waitress, Miyako came over and she set out two sake cups and poured them full for both of the men before setting it down on the table. "What could I get for you today, Roronoa-san?" she asked. Again, she was looking straight at Sanji. This was starting to annoy Zoro.

"What I always have," he said to the girl, who looked over at him as if almost surprised that he responded.

But in that moment, Sanji was talking over him, as well. "I'll have your house yakisoba dish, and I'd still like the rice and miso soup with that as well, my lady," he ordered, whilst handing over the menu to her. She bowed slightly in return.

"Of course, gentlemen," she murmured, before taking disappearing back into the kitchen.

Sanji leaned over the table and lightly touched the edge of Zoro's sake bowl, which the green haired man had just started to lift to his lips. Zoro set it back down at this subtle command.

"So you think this is, what...some alternate universe?" Sanji asked.

Zoro was about to respond that of course not, that was ridiculous, only a shitty cook would think of something crazy like that. But then he recalled the last night that he remembered, when him and his crew were all sitting around at that place they went to, and after his fortune, Robin had said something about... what was it?... him being dead in an alternate universe? Well obviously that wasn't true, the Zoro here was alive and well and badgered by the shit cook constantly. But she had used that term, hadn't she, in reference to his fortune.

"That fortune..." Zoro murmured as his thoughts led him down his path.

Sanji looked confused for a moment, but then he threw himself back in his chair and laughed heartily, his hand on his stomach. Zoro gave him a dead-panned glare as the man continued to laugh, smacking he table and nearly spilling some sake. "Oh, man, marimo," he said. "You've got to be kidding me! You really think...you really think." The man had to stop talking to suck in some well-needed air. Still giggling he said, "I can't believe you'd think that fortune -"

Then the laughter was cut off very abruptly as he met Zoro's glare. "Wait," he said in a dangerous whisper. "You didn't do this because of that fortune last night, did you Zoro?"

Zoro glowered across the table. "Of course not. You think I enjoyed those damn examinations?"

Sanji's facial expression relaxed. "No, I know you hate doctors, even if you're bleeding brains out your ears..." He sighed and picked up his sake, swirling it around in its bowl. "And despite how pissed I would be at you, I think I'd be happier if it was some joke."

Zoro could agree with that. He would be frustrated to no end if Luffy and the rest of the crew jumped out from behind that unflattering painting on the wall of a fan-baring geisha and yelled "got you!" at any minute, but he would likewise be relieved in equal, if not greater, amounts.

But then something clicked. "Regardless, baka cook, how did you know which fortune I was talking about?"

Sanji set down his glass. "Well, you're talking about the one you got last night at dinner, right..." Trailing off, Sanji looked up at Zoro with wide eyes, the blue dancing in the light of the candle of the table, making them look like two pools of seawater. "You remember last night!" he exclaimed. It was clear from his tone he was overjoyed with boyish excitement. Zoro had only seen him like this when he was talking about the All Blue.

"Eh..." Zoro said. "Probably not how you did."

Sanji face fell considerably. "Oh yeah, you said you went to a restaurant on some island with your _pirate crew_, right?"

Zoro ignored the way Sanji said "pirate" like it was a poisonous word. It seemed rather ludicrous in his eyes, as Sanji was raised by a pirate and was very happy to become a pirate, but now all of the sudden this Sanji in this world had great disdain for pirates. The differences between the two worlds, while not major in respects to one's character, were still quite considerable.

"Yeah, but I opened a fortune from a cookie, and it said something odd," Zoro replied.

Sanji nodded. "Yeah, last night you and I and everyone else went out to some posh place uptown and you did get a rather odd fortune. Some thing about you disrupting the harmony between two worlds..." Sanji brow furrowed as he tried to remember. Meanwhile, Zoro had fished in the pockets of his pants and pulled out that black folding wallet-thing that Sanji had handed him this morning. Inside there were a ton of tiny rectangular bits of plastic, a handful of odd green-colored bills, and...aha! Tucked in front of a picture was a little sliver of paper with a fortune on it.

Zoro whipped it out and went to go put his wallet away, but before he did, he froze. When he had pulled out the fortune, the picture underneath had been revealed. It was just a simple shot of Sanji from the waist up in the kitchen, smiling with a spoon in one hand and a bowl of fluffy batter in the other. He flipped the plastic slip holding the picture over. On the other side, there was a picture of Kuina, exactly how he remembered her when she was young. It felt haunting to look into those same determined eyes as though she was right in front of him. Yet, as he flipped though the rest of the contents, he found those were the only pictures in his wallet. Kuina he could understand, but another of Sanji? How odd. Perhaps the cook had put it there himself and Zoro had just been too lazy to take it out.

"I found it," he said to Sanji, who had still been thinking.

Sanji reached across the table to take it from between his two fingers, but before he could, the waitress returned and placed a roll of sushi in front of Zoro alongside a liberal serving of rice balls. In front of Sanji, she placed his rice, soup, and noodles.

"Thank you very much, as wonderful as always, Miyako," Sanji chimed. The waitress blushed slightly and gave a quick bow. Then she looked suspiciously at the two men.

"You still have not drank your sake," she observed. Then she placed in hands on her hips and faked a motherly expression. "Were you two too busy fighting again?"

"No," Zoro answered, at the same time that Sanji said "Yes."

Miyako laughed, throwing her head back and exposing her long, beautiful neck that caught Sanji's eye. "You guys hardly agree on anything," she said with a smirk. "It's so cute."

Zoro felt as though someone had smacked him across the face. Him...the swordsman, the pirate hunter, the most feared man in the East Blue...cute? But Sanji was just simply beaming up at her as though she had just praised them both in poetic iambic pentameter. "Thank you, Miya-chwan!" he sang.

She gave him a soft smile in return. "Is there anything else I can get for you right now?" she implied, but after Zoro had just begun to shake his head, she turned and left, as though expecting that answer anyway.

After she left, Sanji wasted no time in becoming serious once again and he took the precious fortune from Zoro's fingers. "Two worlds must be in balance...blah blah blah...before the next sun rises, a switch will be made and will not be unmade until..." he trailed off. "Wait, grass-head, do you really think you were switched from a Zoro from a different world.. I mean.. that you are a Zoro from a different world and that the Zoro from here is..where you are from?"

Zoro took the fortune from Sanji and reread it quickly. He nodded. "Yes, that makes sense," he conceded.

Sanji didn't laugh this time, but he did shake his head, rubbing his temples lightly with the pads of his thumbs. "I can't believe you," he whispered. Then he looked up. "But even still, it says that it won't be _unmade_ or whatever until the _worlds are balanced_."

The stoic swordsman across from him nodded.

"You think you're a pirate, Zoro, and from a world made of ocean with rubber men and no cars or planes... I think that's a lot for one man to balance."

Zoro grunted in affirmation. "Doesn't sound easy. But I don't think I have to change this entire world. If I was sent then it must be something that I can do, and only me."

Sanji smiled in a rueful manner. "I don't know if the Zoro I know would like being a pirate."

"He wouldn't," Zoro answered. "I certainly didn't. I just hope he can fight."

The cook's smile disappeared. "Oh yes," he whispered, "he can fight. I just hope you had your swords nearby you."

Zoro nodded. "Unlike here, I never removed them except to sleep, and then I just laid them beside me. If he can use them, then he will be fine. The crew will pick up his slack."

"I can't believe we're talking about this, but..." Sanji shook his head. "You seem to believe it, and honestly, I don't care if it's a memory-loss bug or a joke or an alternate universe from a prophetic fortune cookie...but as long as you're okay and you somehow get your memory back one day, I don't care." He gingerly pushed his sake bowl toward the center of the table. "And I guess, even if you don't get your memories back, it's okay, as long as you're still Zoro."

Zoro gruffly shoved a rice ball in his mouth to avoid responding to that sentimental statement, which apparently was not the proper response, because it sent the cook into a tizzy. "Oi, stop that, marimo! Spit it out!" he insisted.

He didn't spit it out, but he did swallow the remainder of it rather quickly. "What's wrong?" he asked, wiping the stray bits of sticky rice from his face. Sanji scowled.

"We don't eat until we toast," he insisted. He lifted up his sake bowl. "So what are we toasting to tonight?"

Zoro picked up his bowl in return and raised it. "I don't know," he said. "You choose."

Sanji scoffed. "You always say that you shitty marimo. Why can't you forget your annoying habits, damn it?"

Zoro thought about it for a second. He supposed he should think of something after all that the cook had done for him today, although he had insisted a thousand times that he was fine. Then something the cook had said to him earlier today sparked his mind. "I got one," he said. He clinked his bowl up against Sanji's. "To being nakama."

For a moment, Sanji's eyes appeared to be swimming in the light of the candle, but it must have been a trick of the flame, because then he muttered, "what a sap," and clinked his bowl against Zoro's, downing the sake in one gulp. Zoro followed in kind. It was cheap sake, as Sanji had said, and burned going down his throat, but that was just the kind that Zoro liked.

After that, they began to silently dig into their meals. The rice balls here were, admittedly, not as good as the cook's, but they were decent, and the sushi tasted freshly rolled, which was nice. Sanji ate how he always did, like a gentleman with small bites, every time savoring the flavor as if he was dissecting every bit of how the dish was made in his mouth.

"Ryota made this," he commented. "He always uses too much salt, thinks it will flavor up day old noodles."

Zoro shrugged and continued stuffing his face. "So where you work?" he asked in between mouthfuls of onigiri.

"The restrurant," Sanji replied nonchalantly.

"No," Zoro said, mouth still full. The cook didn't kick him though, didn't even look up to comment, but his visible eye did twitch in a giveaway of his annoyance. "No, shit cook, I lost my memory. What fucking restaurant?"

"You know it, you said it earlier today," Sanji said. "The _All Blue_, right? I heard you mention it in your story when you talked of me leaving the Baratie."

Zoro stopped eating and wiped his mouth again with the back of his arm. Sanji threw a cloth napkin at his face in frustration, and Zoro absentmindedly finished the job with this. "You work at a place called the _All Blue_," he said. "Really? You found it?"

Sanji poured himself and Zoro another serving of sake, which he took a sip out of as he considered Zoro's question. "Found it, marimo?" he echoed. "Not exactly. I'm the owner, stupid."

Zoro choked on his sake and spit it out all over the table and the blond cook in front of him. Now very pissed off, Sanji grabbed his napkin from his lap and wiped his face and began to dab the front of his sweater. "This was genuine cashmere," he cursed. "I have to get this dry cleaned already, and now this...what the fuck, marimo head?"

"Shut up, prissy cook," he said, washing down his surprise with a generous swig of sake. "I just didn't expect that, that's all."

Sanji grumbled, rearranging his napkin on his lap again and taking a sip of his soup. "Thanks for the confidence, asshole. But yeah, the All Blue, you've been there a thousand times -" Sanji looked up long enough to fix Zoro with a vexed stare "- not that you would remember. It specialized in sea food, but we serve everything. It's on 5th Avenue. I opened it about, oh, three years ago, after I left the Baratie, with the money I had from book sales."

"Book sales?" Zoro echoed.

"Yeah, from my cook book. _All Blue_, _A Thousand Simple Sea Food Dishes from Sanji's Kitchen_."

"Bit of a mouthful," Zoro commented.

"Shut up, marimo," Sanji retorted. "I heard that enough the first three hundred times you said it. But it sold great and with those earnings, some money from Zeff, and a little help with Kaya's connections, I was able to get the place, and I'm damn proud of it."

"I'm sure you are," Zoro replied. He finished the last of his meal, licking bits of rice from his fingers, and chased it down with another glass of sake. Sanji was still only halfway done. "It sounds like what you'd want." He refilled Sanji's glass while the bottle was in his hand, and Sanji looked oddly pleased by this small sign of consideration. Probably because he thought Zoro was just a brute, Zoro mused.

"Well, anyway," the swordsman said, placing down the bottle and leaning back in his chair, allowing himself to digest. "You cook, that makes sense, that's what you've always done. But what about me?"

Sanji paused.

"You know what I do, don't you? I mean you know my fucking blood type!"

Sanji made as though he was going to set down his chopsticks, but then he picked them back up again and began eating as though nothing had happened. "You're unemployed," he said between bites.

"What?" Zoro asked. "I'm a bum?"

The blond grinned at him. "I tell you that everyday, and now you finally say it!" Then his smile softened and disappeared. "But no, you used to work, made good money. But it was too much travel, so you quit. I don't mind, I can afford rent with plenty to spare the way business is going."

Zoro couldn't believe this. Sanji _supported _him?

"Besides, you were thinking of taking up teaching some classes at the Portgas dojo."

"Portgas?" Zoro asked. "Like Portgas D Ace?"

"Yeah," Sanji replied. "Luffy and Sabo and him run a cute little dojo for kids in Queens. They live here in Manhattan with us though, same complex. That's why you wanted to live in the apartment we had, because it's the closest we could get to them. You always worry about Luffy, even with that monster Ace protecting him like a trained dog."

That sounded like him, Zoro acknowledged, but he didn't think it was so obvious that even the shitty cook had noticed it. It was good to hear that Luffy's brother was around though, that kid needed somebody to keep a leash on him twenty-four-seven, and if Sanji and him didn't live with him, the only other one strong enough to do so would be Nami..and that didn't sound promising. But Ace, his big brother, was definitely best for him. Luffy was probably very happy here.

As Zoro was thinking, he was interrupted as Sanji placed something heavy and cold in his hand. He looked down and opened them and saw the set of keys he used to run that machine called a car.

"Uh..." Zoro said, "You want me to drive?"

"No!" Sanji insisted. "But I'm finished, I'm just going to pay the bill and meet you out there. I was giving you the keys so you could get in the car and take a nap." His expression looked almost concerned for a split second. "You look like shit," he added.

"You always look like shit, curly brow," Zoro responded half-heartedly, but then he dipped his head in thanks to the cook and began to meander his way out of the maze of chairs and tables toward the door.

"Goodnight, Roronoa-san!" chorused the waitress and the hostess who had been chatting by the door. Zoro dipped his head, nodding his farewell. The two women seemed accustomed to his rudeness, and immediately went back to chatting away.

It was only when Zoro had fully climbed into the car after fiddling with the keys in the lock for what felt like fifteen minutes, did he realize that he had just had a peaceful and relative civil conversation with the cook over dinner, and it felt like there was nothing odd about it.

He yawned. He would rectify that congenial relationship as soon as possible in the AM, he decided, after he got some decent sleep and could beat the shitty cook's ass when it broke out into a physical fight. The cook and he were nakama, sure, but friends? Friends that shared food and sake and a home? That was a bit too close for Zoro's to be with anyone comfortably in his book.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece. Gol D Roger is the only one who ever owned One Piece. Oh, and Oda-sensei. Him too. **

Zoro smiled around the hilt of Wado Ichimonji as he cut down the last marine on the ship. It had been a very long time since he had a good and proper fight, even longer with his real swords, and he didn't think he had even fought so freely, so indiscriminately. There was always the worries of rules and fouls in a tournament and when he was working he had to worry about legal matters, or at least the sensibilities of the public.

Here, on the open sea, in this world, there was a complete freedom that did not exist where he came from. In modern New York City, in any place of the world, really, there was nowhere completely unexplored, nowhere that wasn't under some sort of government's jurisdiction. And just to have a taste of the freedom that one so readily got in this new world, Zoro would have had to go through months of paperwork and interviews and background checks. So perhaps, if this was a dream or a hallucination, it felt like it was a good one.

But then, Zoro looked back over his shoulder at Sanji. Sanji, who had fought alongside him on the same marine galleon - he took the fore of the ship and Zoro took the aft. The blond was now standing at the bow, his shoe resting on the back of a soldier, lighting a cigarette, his hands cupped to keep the flame from the sea breeze. Although it did take Zoro some concentration to fight so many marines at once, seeing as he was used to one-on-one battles, he still had moments to steal glances at Sanji from his position on the stern.

From his experience, he knew Sanji could hold his own in a street fight. The man was a martial arts master, just like many of their friends back home; in fact, it was how most of them met. But since Sanji was far more involved in his cooking career than kenpo, he rarely saw Sanji even raise his legs outside of training in the gym or sparring at home. Yet this Sanji fought in the same manner, hands in his pockets, legs sending bone-breaking kicks flying faster than any opponent could spot them.

Still, Zoro nearly lost his head for a moment when he heard a gunshot ring out from the other side of the ship, Sanji's side. His heart had stopped and he had completely torn his eyes off of his enemies, staring directly at Sanji, willing him to be okay, worried sick of seeing a blossom of blood to appear on that suit jacket.

But Sanji had not been shot. The gunman had missed terribly and after pulling the trigger had promptly had his jaw broken with the heel of Sanji's shoe. Zoro didn't recover from his shock of the close call, though, until he heard the intake of breath from the enemy who had nearly had the chance to cut him down. Albeit, he was dispatched quite easily.

With barely a splatter of blood on him, Zoro walked to the rigging and gave the rope a safety tug. He glanced over at Sanji. "Coming?" he called.

Sanji barely even looked in Zoro's direction, as thought he couldn't be bothered to even be alongside the man that he had just fought with in a life-threatening situation. A man that he lived with day and night, a man that he cooked food for, cleaned ship with, and slept next to. Zoro supposed that it should bother him more than it did, but Sanji regularly looked at Zoro like that, and Sanji and him from his world did much more together than just sleep in the same quarters.

"Go on, shithead," Sanji said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "If I swing on that rope with you, I might catch some of your boorishness. Who knows if it's contagious."

Zoro spat in the ocean as if to emphasize the exact words that Sanji was saying, and the cook met the action with a glare that could have killed a lesser man. "Suit yourself," Zoro grunted, as he swung back toward the pirate ship, the Thousand Sunny.

The moment he arrived back at the ship, Luffy was patting him on the back and laughing like a madman. Zoro had not seen Luffy fight at all, since they were caught in a pincer attack, so Sanji and Zoro took the ship to the left and he assumed the rest of the crew took the ship to the right.

"That was fun, Zoro," Luffy laughed. "It looked like you enjoyed yourself."

Zoro nodded. He most certainly did. While he used to belong to a line of work that involved cutting people down, he had promised to set that aside and out of his life in order to settle down. Still, it was a thrill that he would dearly miss.

Swords clanking at his side, Zoro walked in order to see around the mast. He was interested in how the rest of the crew had defeated the other marine ship. While he knew Brook was a competent fencer and that Luffy was a decent fighter and Franky a large man, he could never imagine the rest of them fighting.

And that was when he saw the rest of the crew, Nami, Robin, Chopper, Franky, Brook and Usopp, all sitting around a table set up on deck, playing a game of cards with cups of hot tea, as if cannon fire had never disturbed their afternoon in the slightest. And beyond this tea party there was the shattered, splintered remains of a marine galleon warship that had clearly been smashed straight down the middle. Marines that were aboard were desperately trying to escape in rowboats and on driftwood, not even giving the pirate ship and second glance.

"...how?" Zoro let escape from his mouth.

But it was not heard, as Robin said, "Thank you, Captain-san, for taking care of that ship by yourself. I would not have wanted to get up and leave a game I was winning."

At this, the rest of the table began to protest, Chopper whining that it was impossible to beat her and Nami calling out that it was a bluff before raising her wager.

Zoro looked at Luffy, the same skinny kid he remembered with messy black hair and stupid, old and beaten straw hat. Then he looked at the warship, which was cracked straight down the middle, from the deck to the hull. "..how?" Zoro breathed again.

This time, Luffy heard him. He chuckled and then bit on the upper knuckle of his thumb. "I'll show you another time," he said, "but when I use Gear Third I can blow up my fists super big."

While considered the fact that this Luffy apparently had the power of rubber, this idea did not seem too ludicrous, but when Zoro roughly calculated how much sheer strength would be needed to lift and throw a punch with a fist of that size, he began to shake his head in denial. "Okay, Captain," he said appeasingly.

"So, Zoro," Usopp called out. "Chopper told me that you have a made-up world in your head."

"It's not made up!" Zoro growled.

Usopp raised an eyebrow at him. "Zoro-kun," he said in a deeper and more serious tone of voice. He got up from his seat at the table and threw his arm around Zoro's broad shoulders. "When it comes to made-up, might I say...Usopp-sama is the master, and I think that you -" he pressed his index finger into Zoro's left pectoral muscle, "- need some advice from the master."

Zoro brushed his finger off. "I'm not lying, Usopp."

Usopp gave Zoro the sort of pitying look that Zoro really never wanted to see on Usopp's face, especially directed at him. It was like being called a pervert by Sanji or Franky. But before Zoro could pummel the long nose upside the head, a calm voice permeated their conversation.

"I believe you, swordsman-san," said Robin from behind him. The women looked a bit odd to Zoro, seeing as the only thing he had even seen her wear was very professional and intimidating suits of pinstripe or otherwise classic pattern. Instead, Robin was in a short black lace dress with fishnet stockings pulled halfway up her thigh and secured with a fully visible garter belt. He couldn't imagine how Sanji must "suffer" to see her like this daily.

Regardless, what she said was far more surprising. Robin, while not dismissive to theories, was rather intellectual and wasn't the type to chase fairy tales without some sort of empirical evidence that what she was searching for may have actually, at least at one time, existed.

"If you're about to ask why," the stoic women continued, "I think the answer would be best found in one of your pockets."

Zoro growled under his breath. _I always love your bloody riddles, Robin_. Still, he obliged, fumbling around in his pockets. Eventually, in the left, his fingers brushed upon a small bit of what felt like paper. He pulled it out and unfolded the little scroll, but as he was unfolding it, his breath caught in his throat.

"You can't be serious," he said, glaring back up at Robin.

Sanji, who Zoro had not even heard return to the ship, groused "don't talk to her like that, shitty swordsman, I don't care if you don't have your memories!"

"Oi," said Usopp, who was still standing beside Zoro, "isn't that your fortune from the restaurant last night?"

The rest of the crew began to gather around the commotion. "Yeah," Zoro said, "I remember this, too...even though I don't remember anything else."

Zoro felt Nami leaning over his shoulder, particularly her large breasts pressing into his back. He tried not to roll his eyes. "_Before the next sun rises, a switch will be made and will not be unmade until the worlds are balanced once more_." She leaned back and pressed a finger to her lips. "Well, it sort of makes sense. You were you yesterday and now you're...New York Zoro."

Zoro scoffed, even though he felt he was on the same page as the orange-haired witch.

"So..." Usopp said, rubbing his chin ostentatiously, "New York Zoro has come here and Pirate Hunter Zoro has gone to New York, and they must _fix the harmony between the worlds _if they want to return..." By the time he had finished this statement, his voice had become deeper and he had started waving his arms in the air, Chopper and Luffy watching him avidly.

"I see!" Luffy called out. "It's mystery Zoro!"

"But if we're going to believe that Zoro-san was switched because of a fortune," Brook began, "Then we must decide for what reason he was switched."

Zoro sat down at the table with his other crew members and scratched the back of his head aimlessly. "I don't know," he muttered.

"Well," Franky said, "What different between here and there, bro?"

Zoro looked at Franky. The man was titanic in size and apparently had bazooka guns and cannons inside his arms and ran on coca cola of all things. _What was different? Really? _Zoro really wondered what was even the same.

"Oh, Zoro!" Chopper called out. "You talked about those machines that could fly! Maybe you have to invent machines that can fly for our world!"

"Machines that can fly?" Luffy echoed, his eyes sparkling.

"Yeah, and things called cars, right?" Chopper added excitedly.

Zoro shook his head, using his right palm to push a sparkling Luffy away from him as he began to babble incoherent questions about "bird-ships" or something. "No," he said firmly. "If it was just I that was switched, then it must be something that only I can do."

"This makes sense," Robin agreed. "Perhaps it would be best if we left you to your thoughts, swordsman-san, so you could figure out what you may need to concentrate on fixing."

Zoro scowled, watching his friends - the crew - get up and leave him behind on deck. Even Sanji left him without so much as a _marimo _comment about his not being able to think with grass for brains or something of the sort. Sanji headed to the galley, Robin and Nami to the mikan grove and flower garden on the higher deck, Luffy to the head of the lion that he apparently liked to perch upon, and Chopper to make medicine, Franky and Usopp to below deck to work on something, and Brook promptly sat down on the bench around the mast and began to snore...without lungs.

Well, Zoro decided, rising to his feet: if he was going to have to think, he was going to need sake. And then a nap. And then maybe lift some weights. If he didn't know by then, he would probably never know, and that would be that. So Zoro headed off to the kitchen to get the good booze.

As he entered the galley, the blond cook barely even looked up from washing dishes, a steady stream of smoke rising above him, "What do you want?" he groused.

Zoro didn't say a word and brushed past him expertly, reaching the refrigerator. As he approached, he realized that it had some sort of locking mechanism. A four-digit locking mechanism.

"Don't even think about it, marimo. You can't guess the code so don't try and embarrass yourself," the cook said, just the faintest hint of his smug attitude lurking around the words.

Zoro looked back at the cook and gave him his most devilish grin. Then he turned to the fridge and punched in the numbers 7-3-2-6 with the utmost confidence. Sanji stared, blank faced, as the fridge clicked open, Zoro reached in, grabbed a hearty bottle of liquor and closed the fridge behind him. Sanji was still staring at Zoro walked out of the room, smirking and swinging the sake bottle from side to side at eye-level so the cook could hear the sloshing of the expensive sake he just lost.

Zoro realized the cook must have been pretty shocked, or at least pretty ashamed, because he had made it all to the way to a good napping spot on the ship and had uncorked the bottle before he heard the galley door slam open. Sanji stood in the doorframe, eyes wild, looking around for the swordsman. Once he was spotted he headed over, powerful legs taking long strides, feet thumping on the wooden deck dangerously.

"How -" he spat, pointing his cigarette at Zoro threateningly. "How did you know that?"

Zoro took another swig of drink to drown his laughter, which he knew would aggravate the cook beyond the fun little pressure points. "I'm New York, Zoro, remember?" he said smugly.

Sanji was nearly shaking with anger at this point. "So?" he said.

"So, New York Zoro lives with New York Sanji."

Sanji flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette, sending them flying on the wind. "I would never -" he pointed vehemently at Zoro "- give that code to some shitty seaweed, no matter if I lived with him or not."

"Well..." Zoro started. "The combination used to be 0-2-1-1."

"Why?" Sanji interjected.

"Our birthdays," Zoro said. Sanji still looked confused. "You're March 2nd, right?" Zoro added. "Well, I"m November 11th. So 0-2 for the second, and 1-1 for the eleventh."

"Oh."

Zoro took another swig from the bottle. "But then all of us started exchanging room keys with each other, and Luffy and his brothers lived the same complex as us, so he would come over all the time and help himself to the fridge."

Sanji scowled. "Course he would."

"And I would let him, so you didn't want a code that I would know either." Zoro sighed. "So you asked the girls for help, Robin and Nami, and they gave you that idea." He scoffed. "Who knows why. _Tch_."

"You didn't even know what it stood for, moss-for-brains?" Sanji yelled, but then very quickly fell into a swooning pose. "It's because it's all of our lovely names together in one, Nami and Robin and Sanji, since 7 and 3 is pronounced like -"

Zoro had tripped the blond, who was twirling around, with his sheathed sword, which had promptly shut him up. The blond, growling, leapt at Zoro from his spot on the ground and went to bring down a kick over the marimo's head. But his kick was blocked with the same sheathed sword, as Zoro looked up from underneath it with a bored look on his face.

"Fine," Sanji said, his leg still pressing down on Zoro's scabbard, "so how did you figure out the new code?"

Zoro gave a fierce push and flung Sanji's leg aside, which worked but didn't unbalance the cook in the slightest. He met the blond's deep blue eyes and cooly whispered, "Persuasion."

Sanji tapped his black dress shoes impatiently. "You mean, I told you myself? How did you get me to do that?"

Zoro looked up at the man he knew very well, his blond hair being tossed by the wind, the afternoon sun glaring behind him, darkening the shadows on the cook's face. The recollection of him attaining the fridge code was a delicious one, a challenge that he had won in an area he rarely won in.

_He had finished slicking Sanji's tight ring of muscle below his belt with lubrication and was slowly, teasingly pushing his fingers right beyond the rim of tightness before retreating once again. _

"_Shit, marimo," growled the man underneath him. "Just fuck me already."_

_Zoro removed his fingers, and a smirk threatening to split his face in two, started kissing up the man's spread thighs, and then up around his arousal and then lightly up the thin line of hair leading toward his belly-button, which he dipped his tongue in..._

"_Zoro!" Sanji said, his voice a bit weaker. "Come on, I've fucking set to burst, god...ngh.."_

_Zoro pulled himself up on the bed, rubbing their taut chests together for delicious friction, until his arousal rested right up against the blond's own. He gently hovered above Sanji's lips as he ground their groins together. Sanji buckled forward and bit on Zoro's bottom lip, dragging him down as he raised his hip upward, rubbing greedily against Zoro._

"_The fuck, asshole, just fuck me..." Sanji pleaded, his voice cracking. His face was flushed and spittle was still dripping down the side of his mouth from when Zoro had shoved his fingers in there to slick them up. "Please..."_

_Zoro sat up, still grinding their hips together, and looked down at the flushed and lustful body beneath him, the body he had proudly driven into this state of madness. Then he lowered himself down to his elbows and lifted the cook's legs, spreading them wide and settling in between. Sanji thrust up against him impatiently, but Zoro held him in check. Lining himself up directly to Sanji's entrance, he did not yet thrust inside. _

_Instead, he brought his lips to Sanji's ear and gentle licked the cusp of the earlobe before murmuring, "What's the code to the fridge?"_

"_Wh-what?" Sanji gasped._

"_If you want me to fuck you..." Zoro gently bit down where Sanji pulse was pounding in his neck. "You'll tell me the code to the fridge."_

_Sanji was breathing heavily, pushing his hips up desperately, but Zoro was pressing down with his hands secured, one on each of Sanji's hips, keeping them only inches apart. "You can't be serious, you fucking asshole!" Sanji whined, his voice cracking and hoarse with desire._

_Zoro carefully lowered the tip of his arousal down to brush against Sanji's entrance, and then pulled back very quickly. The cook below him gasped and dug his fingernails into his back, nearly deep enough to draw blood. "Oh I am," Zoro whispered again in his ear, and then he took his one hand off of Sanji's hip, still holding him secure with the other, and began to very lightly and teasingly trace the backs of his fingernails up and down Sanji's shaft._

"_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck you, shithead!" Sanji cursed, "It's 7-3 -"_

_He cut off as Zoro began to caress his balls. "Yes?" Zoro asked expectantly, cradling them in his one hand, rubbing small circles with the pad of his thumb._

"_Two-Six, motherfucker! Seven three two six!"_

_As soon as the number had left Sanji's lips, Zoro pressed his own down upon the cook's, whilst at the same time pushing eagerly into the blond's opening. Both of them bit down on each other's lips at they kissing, the copper tang of blood filling both mouths as they cursed and panted, adjusting to the feeling of being one with each other -_

"Oi, marimo!"

Zoro looked up. At this moment, in this reality, Sanji was standing above him, fully clothed and not too happy, and the burning cherry of his cigarette was hanging too close to his face for comfort. Swatting the hand away, Zoro said, "How did I persuade you?"

The cook nodded insistently. "That's what I asked, baka."

The swordsman smirked, the memory flashing by for just one more moment. "I have my ways."

"Tch," Sanji said, and then he roughly let out the last bit of smoke from his previous drag. "I just think I feel awful for _me _in this other world...what do you call it?"

"Well, I live in New York City," Zoro offered.

Sanji paced and lit a new cigarette. "I mean, I can't believe I live with you, when I could live with Nami-swan or dear Robin-chwan..."

Zoro just watched the blond pace, taking sips from his liquor. He had heard this lecture thousands of times, usually after he didn't do the dishes or forget the laundry or locked himself out of the house. What he was actually worried about was that if he was here, that meant that "Pirate Hunter Zoro" was in his apartment right now, with Sanji, in Manhattan, with three swords and a murderous outlook on the world.

He would come home to extensive police reports, he was sure of it.

And Sanji...the Sanji in front of him made it clear he didn't want to go within thirty feet of him, let alone kiss him. Despite this, he wasn't too different from the Sanji that Zoro knew. But if his world was real, and was still out there, then that means that somewhere out there Sanji's heart is breaking because he's too busy being an idiot... and he needs to figure out how he can fix whatever alternate universe him broke his this world, because it sure as well wasn't him.

"Oi, marimo, are you listening or are you that drunk already?" Zoro looked up to see Sanji hovering over him, another cigarette already lit and clamped between his lips...his delicious, begging-for-kisses lips.

Zoro turned his head aside to stop himself from thinking about it. "No, I don't get drunk. I can hold my liquor, unlike you, prissy cook."

Sanji kicked at him, but it was a simple head-shot, one that Zoro could easily duck out of the way for. It was clearly made for the message rather than the actual kick. "I can hold my liquor, weed-head."

Ducking his head, Zoro tried very hard not to laugh. He tried to swallow it like it was water, he tried to stifle it like holding his breath, but all this effort just served to make it burst out of him that much more violently, until he was trying to keep tears from his eyes as he continued to dodge Sanji's vicious barrage of kicks.

"What's so funny, asshole?" Sanji yelled at him. "I've never seen you laugh like that!"

Zoro wiped the beginnings of a tear from his eye as his laughter died out. "Never?" he asked. "Really?" _Things must not be very funny here_, he thought. "Well I've never heard such a ridiculous lie before," he countered.

"What makes you think I'm some prissy boy who can't hold his drink?" Sanji insisted. Zoro loved when he got this like, so avidly curious that he would never give in, that he would question and chase Zoro until the ends of the world, because not knowing an insult or a joke about him would drive him _mad_. In all honesty, Zoro knew it was because the blond didn't really have the greatest self-esteem record, but he sure did love playing with the guy before he put his mind to rest at night.

"Oh just some memories from _my world_," Zoro teased. He recalled a party where Sanji had gotten so drunk he had curled up in the fridge because he was "overheated" and taken a nap there. Zoro wasn't about to let the cook live that down, in New York or on a pirate ship.

Sanji scowled. "Doesn't sound like me."

Zoro looked up at Sanji, taking a sip of sake to add fluidity to his thoughts. The man was the same height, build, haircut, eyebrows, temper and even catch phrases. He cooked the same way and fought the same way. He still was Sanji with the beautiful long legs and the dreamlike deep blue eyes, and probably still the Sanji who couldn't wear a shirt out if it had as stain on it and was deadly terrified of any sort of insect.

"No...It's exactly like you...You are, actually, almost exactly the same."

_Except_, Zoro thought, _apparently you don't love me...at least not as far as the rest of the crew knows._ Zoro studied Sanji, who didn't seem about to respond to Zoro's words anytime soon, seeing as a rather scantily-dressed sea witch by the name of Nami had just walked by. He was the same Sanji, that was for sure. Maybe they actually did have a relationship here? It was definitely possible that it existed and they kept it secret. After all, being wanted pirates in a world where Zoro had no idea about the stance on homosexuality, it sort of made sense to keep their relationship on the quiet side...

Sanji eventually took off, chasing the skirt of Nami and promising that he would make her a delicious afternoon snack before he started on dinner preparations as she sighed in exasperation and waved him away. Zoro decided he'd take Luffy's word and wouldn't try anything too bold, he'd be cautious, but he needed to know...

Because he knew he could handle living in a world where he was a dirty pirate of the sea. He could handle a reindeer Chopper and a rubber Luffy and a cyborg Franky and a extra-handed Robin and a skeleton Brook. He could handle life without planes or cars or sword tournaments or TV or his cell phone. But there was no way, not in a thousand different alternate universes, did he think he could handle living a life without Sanji by his side.

And when Zoro thought back to the life he left behind in New York City, he couldn't help but cringe. The Pirate Hunter Zoro better not mess things up there. Sanji and him had made plans for the future...plans that Zoro held as dear to his heart as he held the promise to Kuina. And if the other Zoro ruined that for them or if the other Zoro in any way hurt Sanji...he would have no remorse about cutting himself down.

He imagined it for a second, the horror of seeing himself bleed out on the floor. But then he looked farther out on the deck, as taking a drink from his bottle, at the blond, smiling so hard his cheeks probably hurt, carrying a platter of drinks on each arm, gracefully spinning around the ladies. He was carefree, perfect, still the Sanji he loved.

No, if the other Zoro hurt Sanji, he wouldn't mind cutting him down at all.

_A/N: Read and review! Haven't revised yet, but I'll get to it, promise! And by the way, the code isn't made up, you can find it and the reasons for it on the One Piece Wiki under "thousand sunny." _

_By the way, I love you all! I'm so glad to have a positive response to my first fanfiction! _


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece or any of these characters. I mean, owning these guys? I'm not some sick Celestial Dragon or something. Christ. Don't insult me. So.. uh, yeah, the story.**

Zoro was again awoken by Sanji's hand shaking him, a bit softer this time. "Come on," he said, "I know you're tired, but I'm not carrying you upstairs."

"Like you could carry me," Zoro muttered, unbuckling his seat belt and tumbling out of the car.

Sanji laughed lightly, a laugh lacking mirth, whilst tousling his own hair. "I've carried you before, marimo."

Zoro cast a disbelieving glance back at Sanji as they walked back to the elevator. "I don't remember that."

Sanji took one last puff off his cigarette before dropping it and stomping it into the pavement with the heel of his shoe. "Yeah, but I won't be prideful, you weigh a goddamn ton."

He was about to ask in what situation would he possibly allow Sanji to carry him, but it was clear from the way that Sanji picked up his pace that he wasn't willing to elaborate on the conversation. Zoro decided that this was for the best; he had already done his fair share of talking for today, and more than he desired with the shit cook, so he could leave the storytelling for another date. And possibly another person, seeing as it was more of Usopp's specialty anyway.

Zoro followed Sanji through the lobby, which was quite dead at this hour, and toward the elevators that were lined against the far wall. Sanji pressed the button and waited anxiously, hands in his pockets. As they walked into the elevator, Zoro noticed he pressed the button "17" on the side, which meant they lived seventeen floors up. Zoro recalled the view that morning and suddenly felt gracious that he didn't have to make a running and jumping escape. It wouldn't have been beneficial to his health.

As the elevator doors were closing, a voice cried out, "Wait up!"

Sanji glanced at Zoro and rolled his eyes, but pressed the "hold door" button and the doors slowly reopened to let on the new passenger.

Zoro was taken aback at the man who walked in. He was a bit over six feet tall, wearing a black hoodie and dark wash, worn and torn jeans; he certainly didn't appear to be somebody who could afford to live in such expensive accommodations. But then Zoro lost his breath when the man looked up and flashed him a daring grin: chin-length black hair, a smattering of freckles, and the confidence that exuded from him were all impossible to mistake.

"Ace-san!" Zoro said. He clapped Ace on the shoulder in a friendly greeting.

"Zoro!" Ace chimed back. "What's up my man?" Then the legendary pirate held out his open hand toward Zoro as though he was expected Zoro to do something to it, but it was a closed fist, so Zoro couldn't even shake it. Confused, the swordsman took a step back and put his hands in his pockets, pretending he didn't notice the hand awkwardly hanging between them.

Ace realized Zoro wasn't about to meet his fist and dropped it, laughing the awkward moment aside. "Luffy got a call from Nami-san about you having some sort of accident, but I couldn't gather the details from him...you know how he is. So what's up?"

Zoro rubbed his temples with both of his hands. "Does everybody know?"

The Whitebeard Second Division Commander patted Zoro's back in what he supposed was meant to be affectionate, but it really took all of Zoro's strength and muscles to not have his knees buckle at the impact. "Dude, you saw Chopper, right? Well then Chopper tells Usopp and then...then you can forget about it, bro." He kept smiling down at Zoro until he realized that Zoro wasn't laughing along with him, and then his smile faded from his face. "So, what's wrong, my man? Need me to fuck someone up for you?"

"Oi," Zoro interjected. "I can handle myself."

"It's just some memory problems, as of now," Sanji said, answering Ace's question for Zoro. "It doesn't appear to be due to a concussion and the blood work was inconclusive. They really haven't found anything yet to lead back to it."

"Oh, Sanji-san!" Ace exclaimed, as if surprised to see the man there. He thrust his fist toward Sanji the same way he had toward Zoro and Sanji met it with his own first, rather dispassionately. After their knuckles met, Ace exploded his palm exuberantly, while Sanji just dropped his hand to his side. "That makes more sense," Ace continued. "Luffy was trying to tell me that you were a pirate."

Both Sanji and Zoro laughed weakly at this.

"So, you not going out tonight?" Sanji asked the young man, as the elevator stopped on his floor. Ace walked out and leaned on the door to hold the elevator open.

"Nah, I am," he responded. "Gotta run some favors for the old man, but Luffy called and said he left something at the apartment, so I'm swinging by and picking it up for him, baka brat."

Sanji nodded. "Keep that kid out of trouble."

Ace gave Sanji a tired, two-finger salute. "Always, cook-san, always."

As he took off down the hall at a light jog, and as the elevator doors closed on the vision, Zoro only caught a glimpse of it, but there was a definite bulge in the back of Ace's shirt, right above his belt line, that looked distinctly like a handgun. _Run some errands for the old man_, he had said. Zoro had not known the eldest brother that long, but he did know that he called the infamous pirate Whitebeard "old man" at times. He couldn't imagine Whitebeard, while maybe not being a pirate, being anything other than a criminal. And thus, this Portgas D Ace was probably every bit as illegal as the one Zoro had met, the one bounty hunters often ran in fear of.

He glanced at Sanji as they arrived on their floor. Sanji had said earlier that Ace and Luffy...and someone else...owned a dojo down in someplace called "Queens." Either Sanji didn't know about the underground relations that Ace engaged in, or they simply didn't openly discuss it. Although Zoro could say that both explanations seemed likely to settle his pride, it would be inaccurate, since he knew Sanji was rather intelligent at times, perhaps a tad bit more than himself, and far much more observant than the rest of the crew.

Zoro yawned as Sanji opened the door and flicked the lights on for the flat. He watched for a moment as Sanji took off his scarf and then began to pull his sweater off on the way to the bedroom. Zoro followed him absentmindedly. He was mildly startled as Sanji's half-dressed appearance for a moment. After all, he had seen the cook change a thousand or more times, but never had he seen Sanji walk around topless the way that he often did - the cook was usually much to prissy and modest for such behavior. But at the moment he was walking back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom, his jean unbuttoned and riding down his hips, his lean, defined chest fully exposed...

Shaking his head, Zoro took off his own shirt and kicked off his shoes. _I was just intrigued in his muscle definition, that's all_, he excused his staring, while taking off his jeans and kicking them aside. In just his boxers, he was about to climb underneath the covers of the fluffy, large bed, when he heard Sanji say,

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

Zoro looked up. Sanji was standing there with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, a bit of frothy paste staining the corner of his lips. He was holding Zoro's shirt between his fingers and looking at it with disgust. "Laundry basket, you brute! Laundry basket!" He gathered the shirt and Zoro's jeans in his arms and threw them in the basket that was in the closet.

"Okay, curlicue," Zoro murmured, "Could you leave me alone already and go to your room? I want to sleep."

Sanji had been on his way out the door to go finish his tolitries in the bathroom, but he paused in the doorway and then turned around, gaping directly at Zoro. As stared for long enough that a small droplet of toothpaste rolled from his mouth and dropped on his upper chest. Zoro watched carefully as another droplet fell, this time landing on well-polished wooden floors.

"Oi," Zoro said. "Oi, cook."

The cook held up a finger as if to say "give me a minute", and then went to the bathroom. Zoro heard him spit up, rinse his mouth, spit up again, and then rinse out again. Then the blond came back, using a white washcloth to wipe the toothpaste off of the corner of his mouth and his chest.

"This is my room, marimo bastard."

Zoro stepped away from the bed and placed the sheets down. "Oh." He squinted as the layout of the room. "Then why did I sleep here last night? I woke up in this bed."

Sanji was fiddling with the washcloth now, making it look as if he was drying his already dry hands. "I...uh..." He bit his lower lip. "I let you sleep there because you were so passed out drunk."

"Oh." Zoro realized why he looked so nervous. It was an unusually nice thing for the cook to do, and Zoro was sure he didn't want to be teased about it. Any other time, he'd be up for it, but at this point, he just wanted to hit the sack. "So...where's my room?"

This time, Sanji stopped fiddling. He took a second before responding, just looking down at the washcloth in his hands as if he was steeling himself for something. But when he raised his face, it was contorted in a wild smirk. "On the couch, freeloader," he said. "Where else?"

"The couch!" Zoro exclaimed. "You get this big bed to yourself, curly-princess, and I get the bloody couch!"

Sanji pulled off his jeans and kicked them into the laundry basket. He moved to the opposite side of the bed that Zoro was standing on, lifted up the covers as if taunting him, and then climbed in. The blond then pulled them up to his chest and fluffed the duvet cover and all the pillows around him. "Sure thing, marimo-kun," he goaded. "But..." he rubbed the patch of sheets next to him, "You can join if you'd like."

Zoro gulped heavily. He felt his adam's apple bob. He didn't know why the look of Sanji with that taunting smile on his face was so tempting - did he really want to sleep in that bed again that badly? - but he certainly wasn't about to give in. In reality, he could care less who he slept next to, for he had shared tighter spaces with other men before in his life, but he knew how Sanji was about okamas, and he was sure that if he jumped in bed to sleep next to this man that Sanji would declare him a sexual deviant and wouldn't shut up about it for days.

_But_, Zoro considered for a moment, _he'd surely sacrifice the bed rather than lay next to you then..._

But then the moment passed, and Zoro was snatching pillows and the extra blanket off the bed, stalking off toward the living room to go the sleep. The last thing he heard Sanji say was "have it your way, mosshead," before snapping off the light and immediately going to sleep.

ZOSAN

Zoro never thought that he would say this, but he actually missed waking up to Brook's violin and singing in the morning. Although it was always ridiculously early and Brook was over-the-top energetic, no matter what the hour, it was definitely a kinder noise to one's ears than this:

Pots slamming, a tea kettle whistling, the muttered curses of the blond. Zoro rolled over and buried his head in his pillow, willing it away, but then the cook decided to speak.

"Oi, marimo." Zoro ignored him.

"Marimo, you still sleeping?" Zoro continued to keep his eyes closed and pretend that he was asleep. There was no way he was waking up to that ero cook another time.

Then he felt the side of the couch dip with the weight of Sanji sitting down beside him. Zoro tried his hardest not to react as he felt the cook's long, nimble fingers run through his hair and gently cup his face, brushing against his earrings and making them chime. "Zoro," he said softly. "You don't have to get up now, but I need to leave for work soon, so I just wanted to ask you something."

This was a request the swordsman could not ignore. He allowed his eyes to flutter open, blinking away the blind spots that came from the sudden sunlight that hit his eyes. "Shitty cook?" he asked.

"Good, you remember me," Sanji said. "Still a pirate?" he asked.

Zoro nodded, and as he did, Sanji quickly drew his hand back from his roommate's face. He instead placed it down on his hip. "Okay, well, I can't take off work again, apparently last night was a disaster, and I think you should be fine on your own..." He pointed to a piece of paper he had left on the coffee table. "Do you know how to use a phone?" he asked.

"S'like a den den mushi," Zoro slurred.

"As long as you understand," Sanji said, "I listed out some numbers there, since I don't know if you could figure out your address book. Your phone is on the counter. And I left you some breakfast in the fridge, you just have to heat it up."

Zoro placed the pillow back over his face. "Okay, okay, leave me alone, baka."

Sanji pressed down lightly on the pillow as if to smother him, but very quickly let up. It was a playful gesture, so playful that Zoro found himself unsure how to respond in kind, and very quickly drifted off to sleep.

ZOSAN

It must have been noon by the time Zoro woke up. Despite sleeping on a couch rather than a bed, it was still one of the most comfortable rests that he had received in a while. The only downside was the lack of the soft rocking caused by the sea, a soothing motion that Zoro had grown quite accustomed to since he had left the dojo, and even more so since he had joined Luffy.

He stumbled to the fridge, still clothed in only his boxers, to retrieve his breakfast. He yanked at the handle, but the door didn't open. Again, he yanked, but was met with resistance. Zoro paused, and looked curiously at the mechanism. The fridge actually looked identical to the one they had aboard the Thousand Sunny, down to the stupid four-digit lock.

"Fuck," Zoro cursed. There was no way he knew that lock, and of course Sanji had probably just assumed that he had known it... He punched in some mindless digits in, like 1-2-3-4 and 5-5-5-5, but after the tenth or so try, he figured he was going to get nowhere with it. He wasn't exactly a code cracker.

And that was when he stomach growled. Damn. He was hungry. Stupid cook was at his stupid restaurant. He was far too used to the blond being around to serve everything to him.

But then he remembered the half-asleep conversation he had suffered through this morning, and glanced at the counter. There - a black rectangle, his phone. He pressed down on the screen like Sanji had yesterday and it lit up. Instead of a snail, it showed a picture of him, Luffy, Sanji, Franky, Robin, Nami...the whole crew. He didn't recognize where they were, but there were lots of flashy signs and tall buildings in the background, and all of them were dressed to the nines.

From the picture, Zoro could see the differences between his world and theirs. Brook had flesh and skin, but besides that he didn't look too unrecognizable: he wore the same sort of clothing and his facial expression was the same, just with a wrinkled face over it. Franky looked similar as well, just as unnaturally big, although his arms were more normal-sized and he was wearing pants of all things. Chopper he had already met yesterday, and besides these three, the crew looked the same. Robin wasn't smiling at the camera, her nose was in a book, and Nami wasn't either, because she was punching Luffy over the head, who was smiling but Zoro knew he wouldn't be in about two seconds once those knuckles hit his skull. And Usopp had his hand around some tiny blond girl's waist and was smiling like he had found the One Piece himself. Sanji, in the picture, was rather miserable looking, with his arms crossed and a scowl hiding beneath his blond hair, and Zoro was resting his elbow on the blond's shoulder, and on his face was the largest grin Zoro had even seen in his life.

In all honesty, his smile was so Luffy-sized, it was disconcerting. Although he smiled often enough with his crew, he couldn't recall the last time he had smiled so whole-heartedly. The swordsman, despite having no memory of the event this picture was of, felt his heart grow warm in an odd feeling of fondness.

Clicking the screen again, Zoro watched as the picture disappeared and in its place were numbers that he recognized. He walked to the coffee table and scooped up the note Sanji had written him. It was in a perfect and rather flowery script that Zoro imagined would be better suited for writing menus and wedding invitations than notes, but it was legible enough.

There were ten digits written down next to the names of each of the crew, starting with Chopper. Under that, the cook had written -

_If medical and you cannot reach Chopper (and are too stupid to call 911 for emergencies), call Trafalgar Law at_...

Trafalgar Law? Zoro couldn't recall the name. Also, on the list, there was a number for Ace and some guy named Sabo. At the bottom, Sanji had written down his "cell" number (whatever that meant) as well as the number to the restaurant. It was more than a little insulting to Zoro that Sanji really thought the swordsman was so sick in the head that he needed more than a dozen contacts to take care of himself, and then he saw the _PS _of the note that was on the back.

_Don't go anywhere alone, baka! That's an order. You'll get lost._

After reading this, Zoro crumpled up the note and tossed it at the wall. "What a fucking twat," he groused. He wasn't about to be babysat, even if he didn't know this city too well, even if he didn't have his memories. All he needed was his katanas, if that, and he could get along fine, thank you very much love cook.

As he was protesting the cook's treatment to himself, he got up and went to the closet, all the while cursing his luck to be stuck with curly brow of all people in this chaotic city of all places. He pulled on some jeans, a hoodie, and as he was fishing around for sneakers, he saw a pile of neatly folded bandanas lying in his corner of the closet. He bared his teeth in what may have resembled a smile or may have resembled a grimace, and picked one up, swiftly tying it around his hair.

And that was when he heard the unmistakable and shrill noise of his den den mushi, no, his phone ringing. He hurried back to the counter where had left it. The screen was flashing the words "Incoming" and "Unknown." Below there, there was a red button and a green button. After a moment of consideration, Zoro pressed down firmly on the green one.

It appeared as though he chose correctly, as a tinny voice sounded from the end of the receiver, "You alone, Roronoa?"

Zoro mimicked what he had seen Sanji do and placed the phone up to his ear. "Yeah," he replied gruffly. "Who is this?"

The voice on the other end laughed boisterously. "It hasn't been that long, Roronoa, you're breaking my bloody heart. It's me, Smoker."

The swordsman didn't hang up, although he was tempted to. He knew he wasn't a pirate in this world, and thus there was no reason to be afraid of Smoker, but the name of the Marine captain still sent warning signals up and down his spine. "Talk," he ordered.

"Well, you said we could call you if we needed you as long as we could cover for you, so here I am. I need you, Roronoa."

Zoro pieced bits of what the Marine said together. "Can you cover for me?"

"That's the thing," the man replied. He sounded smug. "We won't have to this time. The job is right around the corner from you. Do it right and you'll be home before dinner. Your little blondie will never notice you were gone."

The swordsman had been pacing while he was on the phone, but he abruptly stopped. "Blondie?" he echoed. "Sanji?"

A grunt sounded through the receiver. "I mean, I understood when he opened the restaurant that you wanted to settle down together, but I'm glad your back..."

"But -" Zoro started, but the man cut him off as he continued to speak.

"...I know, I know, it's just until you've saved up enough money, you aren't back forever, you've told me a million times. Now do you want this job or not?"

Zoro looked at his swords, he was itching to touch them, and he could smell blood in the air already. Then he glanced back at the crumpled ball of paper that he had tossed on the ground earlier, containing all the numbers that Sanji had written out for him, as well as the note to _not go anywhere alone_.

"What's the job?" he asked brusquely, pulling sneakers on over his feet. He saw a long black bag resting underneath the shelves where his swords where displayed, and began loading the katanas into it carefully as he listened to the marine speak.

"Human trafficker is in town. He's not the big guy we're looking for, but he's well connected. You'll be going by your alibi Ashura, just keep your bandana on and don't forget to carry your license like last time, baka -"

Zoro opened his wallet and fished around. There were a thousand different cards and bits of paperwork in there. Then he came across an official-looking wad of plastic that did not have his name on them, only his picture. He took out these identifications and shoved them in his back pocket, then paused, emptied his wallet of the cash, and put that in his back pocket too. He tossed the rest of his wallet back on the coffee table.

"His street name is Peterman. He's going to have some cronies with him, nothing you can't handle. Right now they've stopped down in Brooklyn, down by Bushwick, here's the address -"

Zoro grabbed the crumpled note that Sanji had left him and leapt for the pen that was lying on the coffee table. He scrawled down what Smoker said verbatim.

"We're going to need you bleed him a little for some names. Just get what you can out of him, I know you'll do your part. And I don't care about his cronies, but once you're done bleeding him, I want him bled out, if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," Zoro replied. He was glad the man was not present, because he had the sickest smile on his face right now at the thought of having some fun. He could almost feel his swords rustling in the bag in thirst.

"When the job is done, call me back at 555-789-4321. Then leave the scene, and fast, because I'll be getting there soon with the officials."

"Gotcha," Zoro said. He felt the conversation coming to an end and threw his sword bag over his shoulder, lowered the bandana so it covered all of his green hair and shadowed his eyes, and made for the door.

"Oh, and Zoro," Smoker added. "If there's any girls or kids there, you leave them behind. And try not to let them see you. We don't want any trouble. I want the officials to handle them. Makes things easier."

Zoro grunted affirmatively, his hand itching at the doorknob. "Is that it, Smoker?" he growled.

The man laughed again, even louder than before. "Yeah, yeah, just get home before dinner for blondie for me, okay? I don't want that man knocking down my front door."

Zoro muttered, "sure thing", but he could hardly care, because he had already hung up the call and was on his way to the elevator, heart racing and ready to go. He didn't know why the Zoro from this world had retired such an easy life, where money was offered to him to cut people down, and they even called him and told him _who _to cut down. Had the Zoro of this world grown soft, and just because Sanji could support him?

Well, Zoro decided he was going to turn things around, starting with cutting down this Peterman scum, and then showing Sanji he could stand on his own two feet. Nothing felt worse than the thought that he was depending on the cook.

After all, he was the first mate. Sanji should be depending on _him_.

_A/N: I know it's a bit short, sorry about that, I just wanted to get it out! Hope you guys enjoy. By the way, Peterman was the guy who sold Caimie to the Human Auction House. _

_Read and review, and I'll try to have the next chapter out as soon as possible._


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: If I owned One Piece, I would have money to buy cigarettes. But I don't, so I'm home writing fanfiction instead.**

"Three thousand and two hundred and eighty four..." Zoro gasped, lowering the ton weights once more before raising it over his head again. He was happy to see the wide variety of work out equipment that he apparently had all to himself at the ship. It was better than at the gym where he had to share with everyone else, especially since Luffy often broke a new piece of equipment weekly. It was also nice to know that while he was here, however long that would be, that he could focus solely on building strength and skill. There were no bills, no rent, and especially no errands to run for Sanji.

Zoro carefully set down his weight so as to not put undue force on the wooden beams of the Thousand Sunny, and as he was wiping the sweat from his brow and back of his neck, he glanced out the windows at the light on in the galley below. He didn't suppose Sanji was going to ask him for any favors anytime soon. Not that he had secretly enjoyed picking up a pack of smokes for Sanji because he had run out at work and was too busy to leave and get some himself, not that enjoyed when the ero cook took up a catering job and made Zoro help out without a dime in return...

Thinking of the last catering job Sanji had done incited something within Zoro that caused his stomach to rumble. He placed a hand over it sheepishly, although there was no one else around to hear it. While he loved having meals with his close friends three times a day, he didn't know how long he could last eating all his food around Luffy. All the other crew members seemed to have devised tricks or defense mechanisms against the man's stretchy arms. Back in New York, Zoro had always practiced the simple art of sitting beyond the boy's reach, but that was no longer an option.

Tonight's dinner had been an eventful affair, which involved Zoro doing a lot more talking that he would have liked...

ZOSAN

"So, Zoro, if we aren't pirates, what do we do in your world?" Nami asked, sipping delicately from her drink. Robin's and her plates remained untouched by Luffy, probably due to the menacing glares the love cook kept sending in the rubber boy's direction.

"Different things," Zoro said, in between stuffing his mouth full of whatever he could get a hand on from his plate. "You're a meteorologist for the New York Weather Channel."

Nami considered this, perhaps trying to imagine herself in the role. "Do I make a lot of money?"

Zoro shrugged his shoulders. "I make more."

"That's rude!" the navigator snapped, bopping him on the head. Zoro just glared back up at her as a bump formed on the side of his forehead, red and bruised. "How does a bum like you make more than me?"

Zoro tapped his swords. "I was an assassin. Private deal, under the table."

Chopper leaned forward over his plate, his eyes sparkling. "Oh, Zoro, that's so cool!"

The swordsman smirked at the doctor in return, but it was more directed to the fact that his plate had just been cleared and he had been none the wiser about it.

"How about the great Captain Usopp-sama?" Usopp asked, touching the tip of his nose with his index finger, practicing the same antics Zoro was accustomed to back home. Zoro nearly choked from eating too fast and very quickly gulped down some mead to rinse it down.

Wiping his mouth, he said, "Why do all of you care? You guys are famous pirates here. Isn't that what matters?"

The expectant looks on most of his crew members faces told him otherwise. He sincerely hoped that his counterpart back home wasn't so avidly interested in everyone else's day jobs; he may be severely disappointed by the lack of excitement in twenty first century United States.

"You're a chemical engineer, Usopp. Don't ask me what company you work for or what you do there, I can barely understand you when you try to talk to me about work." Zoro finished off the last of his mead and held out his cup expectantly to the cook, who grumbled but refilled it. "All I know is that you invent shit," he finished.

This seemed to delight the sniper enough. He threw both his arms up in the air, proclaiming about the great inventing skills of Usopp-sama, the brightest man of the age. Zoro was tempted to roll his eyes. He should've told the man he was unemployed or something.

"And before you ask about her, Kaya's a pediatrician, opened up her own practice just this year."

Usopp dropped his hands back into his lap and looked at Zoro, his eyes wide. "Kaya?" he asked, his voice slightly shaking. "I live around Kaya?"

Zoro looked at the rest of the crew mates, and suddenly knew that he had said something wrong. Their faces were blank, and a handful of them solemn. "Don't tell me she's dead here," Zoro said.

"Baka!" Sanji's heel connected with his head. "That was so insensitive!"

Usopp was shaking his head though. "No, she's not dead, but I left her behind on the island...I hope she's doing well... I haven't seen her in forever."

Luffy patted his curly-haired friend on the back. "Don't worry about Kaya. She's strong, she's probably fine and studying to be a doctor like Zoro said."

Zoro scoured the table, looking to see if there was food left on anybody's plate, he was starving. "Give him a break, Luffy," he said, his eyes finding nothing but crumbs and bones. "A man's allowed to worry about his wife."

Silence. Down to the marrow of the bone silence.

Zoro looked up from his scavanging of the table. Usopp's mouth had dropped so low he truly thought for a second that the man's jaw had become dislocated, but then he grabbed Luffy's shoulders and shook the poor, confused rubber boy violently.

"I marry Kaya!" he exclaimed. "I marry Kaya, Luffy, did you hear that?"

"Oi, it's a different world, not the future, idiot, stop it!" Zoro yelled, but the warning fell on deaf ears as Usopp kept shaking Luffy, the captain's head bobbling about. Everyone looked on with soft smiles, as if not really sure what was going on, but happy that Usopp was happy.

Zoro sat back eventually, recalling when he had last seen Usopp act the same way. He had been living with Luffy and Ace and Sabo at the time, before he had started making any sort of decent or steady money. Usopp had barged in after a night on the town and grabbed Luffy the same way and started shaking him, not saying anything but jibberish until Ace had calmed the man down enough to explain, "she said yes!"

As Usopp came down from his fit, Zoro explained to Franky that he was a mechanic that focused in cars, not ships, and then had to firmly tell the older man to stop asking him about the inner workings of a car, because the extent of Zoro's knowledge stopped after fixing a blown tire. Robin was glad to hear that she was an archeologist who worked out in the field often enough, doing digs in South America and Africa and East Asia. Brook was satisfied to know he was a rather successful musician who played full time for the Rumba orchestra, and he laughed in that shrill manner of his when he found that he frequented clubs and other places to play his original material. After this, he explained to a rather shell-shocked Chopper (Usopp had been shaking him) that he was a certified doctor who specialized in rare diseases, but often consulted with his odd friend, the surgeon, Trafalgar Law.

"Trafalgar Law? The Captain of the Heart Pirates?" Robin asked. Chopper looked confused.

"I don't know him, do you, Robin?" he asked.

Robin nodded. "By name only. I've read in the paper he is a pirate captain from the North Blue with a bounty of two hundred million beli."

Zoro watched the interaction mutely, before adding, "I don't know him that well, but I've heard he's the best damn surgeon on our side of the world."

Chopper hopped up and down excitedly. "I can't wait to work with him!" he squealed. Zoro didn't bother to remind him that his alternate universe was most certainly not the future. For example, he didn't think Robin was about to discover Incan treasure on this odd sea called the Grand Line, and he knew for sure that Franky would probably never help invent the new model of Lamborghini.

"How about me, Zoro?" Luffy asked, pushing a still excited Usopp off of him. "What do I do, huh? Am I King of the Pirates?"

"No, idiot!" Zoro yelled. "The only piracy in our city is internet piracy!"

Luffy pouted for a second, but then cheered himself up with his own backward logic. "Well, it'd be boring if I was the King of the Pirates in both worlds. I'm sure I'll be king of something in New York."

Zoro leaned back, shaking his head. "No, you're happy the way you are. You teach lessons at the Portgas dojo you and your brothers own in Queens. The kids love you there, I've seen."

Luffy leapt up in his chair and threw his fists in the air. "Luffy, King of Queens!" The swordsman thought for a moment to tell Luffy that he didn't knew anybody who wanted to be a king or ruler over Queens or any other borough outside Manhattan, but then he figured it didn't matter, since he didn't know anybody who'd want to be king of the pirates, either.

The captain crashed back into his chair, rubber limbs flailing everywhere for a second. "And I run it with my brothers?" he asked. Then Luffy paused, scratching at his head with his index finger. "Ah.. thinking..." he muttered. His face turned red.

"Oi, don't hurt yourself, Luffy," Sanji offered. "I'll help you out. He said _brothers_."

Zoro nearly groaned. More questions were coming, he could feel it. "Oh no, what have a said now?" he buried his head in his hands and then looked back up at Luffy a bit anxiously. "Let me guess, Ace and Sabo are Anne and Sara or something, aren't they?"

"Sabo?" Luffy said.

Sanji was leaning against the bar, smoking his after-dinner cigarette. "I thought you said Ace was your only oniisan, Luffy. Is Sabo your otouto?"

Luffy shook his head. "No, Sabo was the same age as Ace." He laughed, a odd, hollow laugh that Zoro would have never assigned to Luffy unless he had seen this moment himself. "I haven't heard his name in forever..."

"I'm sorry, Lu," Zoro said. He got up and set down his remaining mead down in front of his captain. "Drink up."

He had left the crew in peace after that to go train. He assumed that nobody had to ask what had happened to Sabo, just as Zoro didn't have to ask. Sabo had passed on, and Zoro found he really didn't want to know how.

ZOSAN

In this moment, Zoro was trying his hardest not to think of the dead man he had mentioned at dinner. Although he was not as close to Sabo as he was to Ace and Luffy, he still knew the brother well. He remembered fondly when the young man had hosed him down at a party to shut him up when he was too drunk and worked up about some spat with some thug. Sabo was far less temperamental than his two foster brothers, though still lacking in general hygiene and basic table manners. What Zoro loved the most about the brother was that he was not adverse to using weaponry in his practice of martial arts, and thus would open spar sword-to-sword with Zoro.

And the worst sinking feeling that Zoro had as he considered the dirty blond man that favored his stupid blue trench coat was the fact that it was very possible that Sabo was the imbalance in between the world, and if that was so, then Pirate Hunter Zoro, a man who had never met the man, never grown to care about him, had just been sent to cut his good friend down.

Zoro sure as hell wouldn't allow that to happen. Damn whatever gods or cosmos disagreed, but just because Sabo had died here shouldn't mean that a good man should have to die twice for no good damn reason.

The swordsman leaned back and glanced out the window, watching the light of the full moon that had moved significantly across the sky. It was most definitely past midnight now, and the light in the galley was still on. Although Zoro was often one to stay up late, since he slept in and napped often, he knew that the cook, while sometimes a night owl, liked to try to turn in early enough since he had to wake up before everyone else and whip up breakfast. He didn't assume these habits had changed from New York to the pirate ship, but it didn't concern him too deeply. After all, he was hungry and he wanted to see if he could get something out of the shitty cook with some... _persuasive_ methods.

Zoro grinned and hopped out of the crows nest, deftly clambering down the rigging toward the deck.

He was considering bursting into the galley and rudely demanding something along the lines of "food, ale, now, shitty cook", but then he figured that in the state their relationship was in, Sanji wouldn't catch the joke and it could end a bit disastrously, the end result being no food or ale for him. So he paused outside the door and glanced in, first to make sure that the cook hadn't fallen asleep at the dining table and had just left the light on.

The cook was not asleep. He was sitting at the the dining table, a glass of red wine lightly cupped in his hand, the dark bottle it came from half empty beside it. He was slouched forward and looked as though he could barely hold up his hand with his left hand as he slowly puffed from his cigarette. Zoro watched as the man's blond hair swayed to one side as the cook drank from his glass, his deep blue eyes shining in the soft yellow light of the evening lights on the ship.

Zoro could tell his cook - the cook - was worn out, and perhaps a bit down on himself. He knew this because he knew the cook often favored white wine, unless red complimented the food better, but the dark wines, the old merlots and cabernets, were for the nights when Sanji was doubting his ability, when Sanji felt lonely, when Sanji needed Zoro to make slow, sweet love to him.

The swordsman only wished he could give the blond what he needed that night, but the thought seemed unlikely at best. Regardless, he pushed the door to the galley open and walked inside.

The cook looked up tiredly. "Oh, it's you," he said softly, turning back to his wine and swirling it in his cup. "What do you want?"

The swordsman sat down. "You're up awfully late," he commented.

"What it to you, shitty swordsman?" he asked. "Nobody asked you to bother me."

Zoro was about to respond, but that's when he stomach rumbled again. Although he came to the galley for this reason, it wasn't exactly a noise he felt that a infamous swordsman stomach's should make. He immediately felt his cheeks burn with the flush of his blood rushing toward the surface.

The cook looked up, and then he gave Zoro one of his dashing and teasing smirks that did nothing to help the blush on his face. "So," the cook said, "you're hungry." He put out his cigarette in the ash tray and set down his glass of wine, walking toward the sink. "Guess it can't be helped, you did miss lunch due to being examined by Chopper."

The cook moved effortlessly to the fridge, punching in the same code as always, and Zoro was pleased, if not a little surprised, to see that he hadn't changed the combination. He pulled out a handful of ingredients, grabbed a pot from a cabinet and began to get to work, humming softly to himself.

Oddly enough, the swordsman recognized the song. Sanji often hung or sang it as he worked around the house leisurely, and sometimes Zoro had even caught the man murmuring a few bars in his sleep. It was an old sailor's song, something that he had picked up working overseas in France with his uncle, Zeff. Zoro remembered the night that Sanji had been delighted the hear that not only did Brook know how to play the song, but a good portion of their friends knew the words as well to "Bink's Sake."

"Skip to the verse about the storm," Zoro offered, as Sanji chopped carrots. "It's my favorite."

Sanji looked up and sneered. "I'm not gonna sing for you, marimo."

Zoro leaned back in his chair. "Oh?" he said softly, feigning disappointment. "That's a shame, you're a decent singer. Together we make quite the duet on karaoke night."

The cook tossed the ingredients into the broth he had brought to a boil over the stovetop and began to stir. "Karaoke night? I'd rather cut my ears off."

"You wouldn't," Zoro declared. "Then you couldn't hear Robin sing. You praise her like she's freaking Edith Piaf or some shit, but she really is quite good."

"Of course she's wonderful," Sanji snapped back, stirring the soup perhaps a bit too suddenly, causing some to slosh over the side. "She's my beautiful Robin-chwan, more graceful than a swan on a lake."

Zoro, having no response for this ridiculous cliched metaphor, simply allowed the galley for fall into silence, which was met with Sanji's own silence, as he allowed the soup to simmer, added some seasonings, and finally dished some out into a bowl for Zoro, which he set in front of the swordsman as though it was slop rather than the exquisitely delicate masterpiece that Zoro knew his soups often were.

Sanji sat back down across from Zoro and lit another cigarette, staring off blankly into space as Zoro dipped in spoon into the soup and took his first sip. His eyes brightened for a moment at the rich flavor.

"Good soup," he muttered to the cook.

Sanji nearly choked on the breath of smoke he was letting out. "Wh-what, marimo?"

Zoro gritted his teeth together. He hated saying it more than once. "I said it's a good soup, shitty cook, don't let it get to your head."

The blond swirled the last of the wine in his glass one more time before downing it in a small gulp. He set the empty, stained piece of tableware down. "You really are different," Sanji said, as he went to the sink to wash the wine stains off the glass immediately. Zoro recognized the practice that he enforced like law within his own restaurant. He hated unclean wine glasses, and often professed there was nothing more unattractive about a place than a wine glass that was anything less than sparkling.

"Not too much different," Zoro said, taking another sip of his soup. He was so hungry and it was so delicious that he was tempted to raise the bowl to his lips and swallow it down in a few gulps, but he wanted to drag out this conversation with the cook for a little bit longer.

Sanji picked up a white rag and began to dry the glass. "I suppose not," he said. He set the wine glass away in the proper cabinet. "So," he said, relighting his smoke, "you never told me what I do for a living in this New York place."

The green haired man looked up from his soup with his eyes half lowered, as if to say _are you serious_. "What do you think you do, shitty curly brow?"

Shrugging, Sanji said, "I don't know, I live with you, so I could be doing some even more crazy shit, like taming wild elephants or tailoring ladies dresses."

Zoro laughed. "Tailoring ladies dresses? In your dreams. You know you're a cook."

"Baratie?" Sanji asked.

Zoro shook his head. "Not for years. You opened up your new place three years ago with some financial help from friends and with your cookbook sales money. You called it the _All Blue_."

Again, Zoro could feel the silence more than he could hear it. The cook did not stay still for long, though, and he continued to smoke his cigarette before a slow, but sure, smile appeared on his face. "The All Blue, huh?" he said to himself. "How is it?" he asked Zoro. "How's business?"

Sanji looked down at him, his blond fringe of hair shifted just right over his one eye, the other visible one appearing to sparkle at him. Zoro could never decide if those eyes reminded him more of the sea or of the sky, but both seemed endless and beautiful and free, just like he saw the cook, so he couldn't care less to categorize them. He stumbled upon his response: "Fucking..." he paused. "Fucking great. It's fucking great, Sanji, I won't lie. The place will outlive you, especially if you keep smoking like that."

The damn cook was happy, maybe even too happy. Zoro had seen his eyes light up like that a couple of times in his life, and the only reason why he hated it now was because he couldn't gather the man up in his arms like he wanted to and hold his head against his chest. He couldn't wrap his hands around those lithe hips of his and feel his body encased in those unbelievably strong, undeniably long, god-sent legs. Worst of all, he couldn't kiss the cook, despite what the man's frilly pink apron may read, and couldn't taste the tender joy in those lips, the playful laugh of his tongue intertwined with his own.

"So," he asked the Sanji he couldn't touch, "What does the All Blue mean to you here?"

Sanji took another drag before responding. "It's my dream, marimo," he said, but the insult lacked bite. "The All Blue is the fabled sea that has the plants and animals from all the seas in one place. They say it's a legend, that it's impossible, but Luffy..."

Zoro finished off his soup. "No need to say more, I know Luffy. He doesn't change much."

The cook gave his small smile of agreement, and then swiftly picked up the dish in front of Zoro. He brought it to the sink and began to wash it out. "Well," he said over the sound of running water, "if you're done, it's time to go to bed, shitty moss head. Get out of my face."

The swordsman felt the last of his opportunity of time alone with the cook slip through his fingers. It was clear that when the cook turned the conversation from civil back toward their common, pithy banter that the blond was closed off toward any more advances for the rest of the night. Heart heavy in this denial, Zoro made for the door, but before he had reached it, he heard,

"Hey, marimo."

Turning, Zoro tried his hardest to conceal the hope swelling up inside of him as the cook dried off the last dish and set in back inside the cabinet. "Was...was Usopp really married to Kaya were you came from? I mean, I never met her, but I was just wondering..." The cook trailed off.

"Yeah," Zoro responded gruffly. What an odd question. He turned to leave again, but then the cook cleared his throat loudly.

"Um... by any chance...was any one else - you know - I mean." Sanji stopped and wiped his hands on his sleek black dress pants. "Oh, whatever, I just wanted to know if, maybe I wasn't running around the Grand Line looking for some legendary ocean if maybe there was someone in my life." At this point, the cook had to look down, because the blush on his cheeks had become so burgundy it was probably visible even to himself.

Zoro couldn't bring himself to tease Sanji about it, though, no matter how tempting it was, because he was absolutely frozen himself. He had no idea how to answer. If he assumed there was no relationship between Sanji and him and lied, would he crush any chance for a relationship in the future? And if he told him the truth, would he send the man running from him and never get the cook to look him straight in the eyes again? The pain of this decision had roiled into a tight ball within Zoro's stomach, and for one insane second he almost wished that his scar would reopen or any of his prior wounds, so he could trade this uncomfortable, internal pain for a real one that he knew how to deal with: bandages and time.

"Stupid question, I get it, moss head," Sanji muttered, and turned with his back facing Zoro, both his palms pressing deeply into the countertop as if struggling to keep him standing.

"No, um," Zoro began. "You have someone special in your life."

Sanji looked up, his face still caught between happiness and indifference, as if he couldn't trust himself to truly care about this topic, as if he were deathly afraid of believing Zoro and finding some darker truth. Still, he turned to the swordsman and Zoro could read the question on his lips before he spoke it, before the man could even think it to himself.

"If you are going to ask _who_, please don't," the swordsman said. "After all I found out at dinner, I'd really rather not reveal anything more."

The cook took a step back, and appeared for a second to Zoro as though he had been shot in the shoulder. He still had yet to make a sound.

"You understand, right, curly brow? Besides, it's not like what is there..." he looked desperately at the cook's figure one last time before turning around, "...will come true here." He made sure he didn't look back on his way out, and Sanji didn't follow him.

Just before Zoro went into the men's dorm for the evening, he looked up at the stars. They looked basically the same to Zoro, but he had never been an astrologist and deep down he knew he couldn't tell south from north even if it would save him life; perhaps even the stars really were different out here. Regardless, Zoro knew in this moment that he never felt so homesick before in his life.

_A/N: Read and review, sorry about any typos, I'll fix it up soon! I really love all your guys support, thank you so much, you guys make me want to update super fast. _

_Oh, and Edith Piaf is a famous french singer, you should look her up, she was great._

_And, you should know this silly One Piece fans, but oniisan is big brother and otouto is little brother._


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Zoro or Sanji or anyone else. If I did I would do dirty thing to them. **

It didn't take Zoro long to realize that he had no idea how he was supposed to get to his destination. He went to the garage where he thought he could try to figure out that car thing that Sanji had drove yesterday, but then he realized he lacked the keys that made it run. Then he realized the car was missing anyway, and reckoned that Sanji had probably used it to get to work.

So now he was standing outside of the apartment building that he lived at, bandana and black hoodie still on with the long black bag over his shoulder, making all of the pedestrians on the street give him a wide berth.

He watched in exasperation at a young woman who had scurried around him who was now holding her hand out into the street as if waving to somebody.

At her call, a yellow car, the many of them that packed the road labeled "Taxi" on the side, pulled over. She opened the door and threw her bag in first before climbing inside. After sitting down but before closing the door, he heard her say the the drive "JFK Airport, please." Then she shut the door and the car took off.

Now, this didn't happen often, but Zoro believed he had an idea. He walked up to the street and mimicked throwing his hand out just like the woman had and watched as half a dozen yellow cars passed him by without even slowing down.

Finally, one of those damned taxis pulled over and Zoro opened the door, climbing inside. As he shut the door, he passed the driver the slip of paper he had scribbled the address on. "I want to go here," he said.

The driver glanced in the mirror attached to his front window and narrowed his eyes. "Brooklyn, buddy? That's gonna cost you. I'm on the end of my shift, too, why don't you just take the subway."

Zoro had no idea what a subway was and wasn't about to ask the driver, or anybody else, for directions. "How much?" he asked.

The driver looked back down at the slip of paper in his hand. "I don't know, the fare will come to at least forty dollars."

Zoro reached into his back pocket and pulled out those green pieces of paper that resembled beli. At the top corner of each one there were little numbers written. He had ten green slips...all with little twenties on the corner. "I have enough," he said. "Just go."

"Okay, okay," the driver said, and then muttered to himself under his breath something that sounded like, "Sharmuta." Zoro pretended he didn't hear him and the driver took off.

As they were driving, Zoro stared listlessly out the window. This city was flashy and sordid at the same time. The buildings were tall but gray and bland, the people were many in number, but none could be bothered to spare a passing glance at one another. And no matter where Zoro looked, he couldn't see even the slightest hint of greenery. Everywhere was cars and asphalt and concrete, people in black suits carrying black suitcases and black umbrellas. There was nothing to brighten up this dreary world, and as they continued to drive, Zoro saw the state of the streets deteriorated, the people appeared less and less well dressed, and the shabbiness of the buildings increased tenfold.

It was a good half hour before the car slowed down to a final stop outside some beaten-down warehouse. Zoro looked at the drive suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. "This is where you said to take you, right?" the driver said. "I mean, what did you expect?"

"How much?" Zoro groused back at him.

The driver pointed a hairy and thick finger at the digital numbers displayed in red next to the steering wheel. It read $42.50. Zoro reached in his back pocket and pulled out three of the green bills and handed them forward before getting out. He watched as the driver fumbled with some other bills he had collected, as if looking for change.

The swordsman tapped on the driver's window, who rolled it down, "Keep the change," he told the man.

Zoro saw a yellow-toothed smile emerge from underneath the man's prominent beard. "Thanks, buddy, maybe you're not so much a sharmuta after all."

"Just get out of here," he told the man. "Fast."

The driver didn't need to be told twice. It was only a second before his window was rolled back up and then another before the cab had peeled around the corner, cutting off another car who had swerved and honked at him, still leaning on his obnoxious horn as the cab flew into the distance.

Zoro put his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shifted the heavy black bag on his shoulder. He looked up at the unused warehouse, with it's boarded up windows and graffitied walls. In reality, he was sizing up the situation. There were five floors, and three windows on each side, about twenty feet apart. Right in front of him there was a rusted door, but the handle was not dusty or underused. That must be where the thugs were entering in and out of.

For a second, Zoro considered looking for another, less obvious entry. Then he walked up to the rusted down and promptly kicked it down. He wanted to be home for dinner, after all.

After walking in through the kicked down doorway, Zoro was welcomed to the property by the click of a cocking gun and the cold feel or a barrel up against his temple.

"Hey, fuck face, you walked into the wrong building. Why don't you turn around and head home?" came a voice from the darkness.

But before the poor man could say another word, he had the cold steel of a blade pressed up against his windpipe, his wrists caught in an insanely strong grip behind his back. Zoro had already opened his bag and slipped his swords securely into his belt, and then drew Shunsui, all while the man struggled to comprehend how a human being could move so quickly.

"Tell me where your boss is," Zoro growled into the man's ear.

The man shivered. "A f-fucking sword?" he gasped. "Are you shitting me? Who the hell are you?"

Zoro pressed the blade slightly into the man's throat. "I'm the man who's going to slit your neck if you don't tell me where your boss is."

The man shivered at the touch, which caused the blade to nick his throat and draw a bead of blood. At the touch of pain, he panicked. "Third floor, you crazy bastard, just let me go!"

The pirate complied, but before dropping the man to the ground he bonked him viciously upside the head with the hilt of his katana, allowing him to take a nice nap on the concrete floor. Stepping over his body, Zoro rushed to the stairs.

It wasn't long until Zoro came across a group of half a dozen men gathered around a folding table on the second floor, smoking and all tapping on their black little den-den mushis. Since they were so oblivious, he considered just passing them by, but then he knew that if they heard any noise coming from upstairs, they'd come rushing up and then prove to be a distraction.

To remove this distraction, Zoro walked up to the table and just stood between two men, waiting for them to notice him. Eventually, the man sitting next to him looked up, blowing a handful of smoke in his face as he did so. Grimacing, Zoro glared back down at the man. He was used to secondhand smoke, but not even curly-brow was that rude.

"New guy or something?" the man asked, pulled the smoke from his teeth and letting the ashes fall to the floor. "Why don't you run to the corner shop and buy us some beers. We're getting thirsty sitting here all day."

"I'm not going to buy you any beers," Zoro replied tersely. "And I'd appreciate if you'd put your cigarette out."

The man waved the smoke in his face. "Why should I, asshole?"

Zoro felt the corners of his mouth turn up in that bloodthirsty smile of his. "So it doesn't burn me when I cut you down," he responded.

The man he was talking to went to reach for his gun that was laying out on the table, but he never got a chance to touch the cold metal, and neither did the other five of his friends. Before they could properly gather themselves, Zoro was standing at the other side of the table, his arms crossed over his chest, murmuring "Onigiri."

All six men were disposed of in that single attack, and Zoro moved on to the third floor. Thankfully, this warehouse was huge and since the men had fallen swiftly and easily, there was no noise to alert the boss named Peterman that his death was on the way. Not that Zoro figured any preparation would help him; his crew seemed woefully unfit.

It was while he was making this assumption, climbing his last flight of stairs, that Zoro was proved wrong by the sound of a gun firing. He looked up just in time to process the bullet flying at him with his keen sensory abilities, and then to deflect it with the blade of Sandai Kitetsu. He followed the path the bullet had taken to the shooter, who was dressed in black slacks and a blazer.

"What is it?" Zoro heard a deep voice call from further in on the upper level.

"A thug in a bandana with swords," the man at the top of the stairs replied to the voice. Then he turned to Zoro and said, "What do you think this is, the middle ages?"

But the voice upstairs was not so amused by the description. "Bandana and swords?" he echoed. "Tyrone, get out of there!"

The man's order was not abled to be followed, though, because seconds after the voice uttered it, Zoro had cut down the man Tyrone, who was busy now tumbling limply down the stairwell. The swordsman advanced passed him and finally came upon what he had been looking for.

There were only three men on this floor, two with handguns and the third appeared to be unarmed, but was rather frantically pulling out his phone. Beyond them, there were four girls, two no older than twelve, and the other two no older than sixteen, all bond and unconscious behind them.

Zoro moved swiftly, dodging a barrage of bullets and cutting the phone out of the larger man's hand. He swiveled and faced the men again, lunging in for a second attack that dispatched the man on the right.

Now facing the man who had reached for his phone and his smaller friend who was rummaging in his pockets for second magazine, Zoro drew his third blade and placed it in his mouth.

"Ashura!" the larger man with the phone gasped. Zoro was not using that technique right now, but he recalled Smoker referring to it as his "alias." It must be the name he was known by in his business, much like Luffy was called "Strawhat" on most occasions.

"Which one of you is Peterman?" he grunted across the hilt of his blade.

"Fuck if I'd tell you," the smaller man said, and then popped his the magazine inside his pistol and aimed it at the pirate hunter. He never got the fire before Zoro took him down.

Zoro stood up from his attack pose and flicked the blood off of his swords, turning to the larger man, who had finally pulled a hidden handgun out of his pocket. "Your subordinates are more honorable than you," Zoro told him.

Peterman smiled with his sickly large mouth. "Maybe so," he said, "But I'm a better shot than my men." He raised his gun and Zoro steeled himself to dodge the bullet, but that was when the man turned his arm and pointed his gun straight at the forehead's of one of the girls, particularly the one who looked about sixteen with pixie-cut seaweed green hair. It was then that Zoro noticed during the action, she had woken up. Gagged, she couldn't make any noise, but her wide eyes were looking from Zoro to Peterman and back.

"That won't work against me," Zoro told the man.

"Why?" Peterman teased, still smiling. "Are you really the nine-armed demon they rumor you to be, one that would let an innocent girl take a bullet for him?"

"No," Zoro answered. "It won't work because I'm better than you." And then Zoro moved. It was a risk, he knew, seeing as he couldn't judge the exact time that Peterman pulled the trigger, and thus there was no way to know whether he would make it in time or if the bullet would wind up embedded in the poor girl's brain. But Zoro's bounty was not comprised of meager numbers, and this was for a reason, which Peterman saw but did not understand as a split in half, useless and deflected bullet, fell to the ground leaving both his hostages and his attacker unharmed.

The look of shock on his face was delicious to Zoro as he moved forward and cut him down. The slice was shallow, though, and this was on purpose. Zoro moved adeptly to the extra bounds in the corner and used them to easily tie the wounded man up in a manner similar to the hostages he had captured.

Zoro kicked the heavy man into a sitting position and pressed him up against the wall with the tip of his blade. "I need names," he said.

Peterman coughed, blood coming up with the air and staining the corners of his mouth. "You're crazy if you thinking I'm tell you anything."

The pirate hunter didn't bother to reply. He instead took the jacket off of one of the wounded lackeys he had dispatched earlier and cleaned off Wado before sheathing it once more. Then he turned back to Peterman. "Well, my order were to kill you. So you can tell me, and I can kill you quickly, or you can give me a hard time, and I can kill you slowly."

Peterman's eyes widened. "Kill me? But I'm a nobody! I just transport the girls by men snatch to Disco's shop!" Then his eyes widened even more. "Gah!" he gasped. "Pretend you didn't hear that!"

"Hm," Zoro mused. "Disco's shop, huh? So he's the big guy?"

Biting his lip, Peterman shook his head wildly. "Yes, yes, nobody above him," he said desperately. "B-but, you...you really aren't gonna kill me, right? You were bluffing, right?"

Zoro didn't even spare a glance at the pitiful man. He slashed neatly across the guy's thick chest, drawing blood that spilled down the front of his Armani button-down. "You're lying," he said simply. "Who does Disco work for?"

Peterman threw his head back in response to the pain, gritting his teeth. "You motherfucker..." he groaned. Zoro drew his sword across the man's chest again.

"Fuck you!" the man screamed. "Doflamingo is the one you want! Donquixote Doflamingo!"

Zoro paused before cleaning off his second blade and sheathing it as well. Now he was left with Shunsui pointed at the man's face. He looked in his eyes to detect any lies but didn't see anything there. "Doflamingo, huh," Zoro said. "Sounds farmiliar."

"See?" Peterman begged anxiously. "You got what you want. Now just let me go. I'll pay you, more than whatever you're boss pays you for the job, just let me go."

"No chance in hell," Zoro replied, and then he cut swiftly underneath the man's disproportionately skinny arms. The man gasped as though he had been stabbed through the heart, but once he realized what had been done, he looked up at Zoro in shock as the man in the black bandana sheathed his last blade.

"I sliced a major artery," Zoro explained. "I'm going to call the cops, but if you are dead once they get here, it's not my fault." He raised his fist above the man's head. "I would never demean myself to kill such a pathetic man, even if he was armed." Then he brought his knuckles down on the crown on the man's head and sent him into a deep slumber that he may never awaken from.

Job finished, Zoro reached into his pocket to fish out his phone, but that's when he heard mumbling and groaning. He looked down at the unconscious workers and Peterman, wondering if any of them had woken up and were foolish enough to try with him again instead of playing dead. But the noise wasn't coming from them. Then he looked to the girls and caught the eye of the one who had the gun pointed at her head earlier. She was still gagged, but was clearly trying to speak with Zoro.

Zoro bent down in front of her and tugged off her gag. As soon as the cloth came off her mouth, she gasped, "Thank you!" Then she began to sob shamelessly.

The green haired man took a step back in fright. "Oi, don't cry," he said. "You're okay now and stuff. I'm gonna call the cops so you can go home."

"I know," the girl sniffed through her sobs. "I'm just so happy!" She held out her bound hands to Zoro, who untied them as well. Hands untied, she began to wipe the tears from her face in earnest.

"My name is Caimie," she said, attempting to smile up at the strange swordsman.

Zoro just glared down at her. "I'm not telling you my name."

The girl shivered in response, and then laughed nervously. "I didn't think so, you sure are scary."

He didn't admit it, but this actually made Zoro feel better. He was still getting over being called "cute" by the waitress last night for arguing with Sanji. While he didn't want everybody to think he was scary, it was definitely an improvement from "cute."

"Well," he replied, "I have to go."

But before he had made it to the stairs, Caimie cried, "Wait! Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Zoro paused. He racked his brain and tried to remember if he met a Caimie on their travels, but he came across nothing. That didn't mean that he didn't know her in this world, though, so he bit his tongue and refused to turn around. "No," he replied stiffly.

She laughed to herself again. "No, I guess not, that sounds silly, doesn't it?" Zoro began to walk again, but then she continued to speak, "It's just my friend Sanji has a friend who looks just like you...but he has green hair if you'd believe it!"

Zoro glanced over his shoulder. The girl who was speaking had green hair, but decided against reminding her of that. "His name's Roronoa Zoro," she said. "Any chance he could be your long lost brother?"

"Never heard of him," Zoro responded, before taking down the stairs and ignoring any further cries from her. He pulled out his phone and quickly dialed the number that Smoker had given him earlier.

"It's done," Zoro said into the receiver once the line had been picked up.

"Confirmed," Smoker's voice replied. "Get out of there Roronoa, we'll be stopping by."

Zoro didn't bother to respond. He ended the call and took the last flight of stairs at top speed, before quickly exiting the building and coming to a dead stop in the street. He looked up and down at the cars parked along the side of the street and the circle of teenage kids who were smoking something particularly smelly across the street for him, and then at the corner stop diagonal from him where an old man had just exited from. He looked up and down the street again, frantically.

There were no yellow cars. No taxis. And he had no idea where he was, but he needed to get out of there, and fast, as he heard the distinct sound of sirens in the distance, which Zoro presumed would be the signal for the local marine or police force or whatever they used on lowlifes like the ones he had just cut down.

So Zoro zippered up his black bag that carried his swords and took off down the street in any random direction, running at top speed. The kids across the street and the old man glanced up at him briefly, but seemed to not be perturbed as he ran down the block like the devil was on his tail.

ZOSAN

It was two hours later and Zoro still had no idea where he was. He had wandered further and further into the backstreets and although he had passed many people, he continually refused to ask for directions. He was now sitting on the curb dejectedly, wondering how pissed Sanji would be when he came home and nobody was there, including his three swords. He obviously had been lying to the blond about these little jobs he did, and there was definitely a reason for that, whatever it was, so Sanji would most likely be on a new level of flaming rage when he arrived home...if he arrived home.

Realistically, he knew he still had a couple of hours to head home, but even more realistically, he understood that no matter how much he wandered, he was unlikely to see anything he recognized in this sprawling, dirty city that was meant to be his home.

"Zoro?"

Zoro looked up, and saw the side of a obnoxiously bright, tiny yellow car. Looking up further, he saw the man in the driver's seat looking over at him with concern. The man had skin a shade or two darker than his, had black out-of-control curly hair, and the longest nose known to man kind. "Usopp?" Zoro asked.

"Yeah," the man replied. "Glad you remember me. I heard was going on from Chopper."

"I know!" Zoro said, jumping to his feet. "And then you told everyone else."

Usopp shrugged, not bothering to deny it. "Whatever," he said, "Get in the car and tell me what's going on. Like why you're sitting in the side of the road in the Bronx."

"The Bronx?" Zoro asked. "I thought I was in Brooklyn."

Usopp leaned over and opened the car door from the inside. "Just get inside, Zoro, and I changed my mind, I don't want to know why you're here."

It may have comprised Zoro's pride a bit to get into such a cute little car, but he didn't think he had any other choice but to follow his nakama in this strange place. He sat down beside the man and closed the door, buckling his seat belt. "Thanks," he said under his breath, as though it was difficult to say aloud...which it was.

"It's no problem," Usopp said. "But..." he glanced in the back seat, "Why are you carrying your swords around with you in the Bronx?"

Zoro grumbled. If he told Usopp, Usopp would surely tell Sanji, wouldn't he? "Well why are you driving this dumb yellow car in the Bronx?"

Usopp laughed at that. "Well I stopped at the hardware store around the corner from here. It's a long ways away, but they have the greatest stuff, stuff you can't find anywhere else. It's totally worth the ride!" Then he rubbed the steering wheel fondly, "And the car is Kaya's, not mine, but it's still a cutie, isn't it?"

Zoro frowned. He was really sick of cute things at this point. "Well, could this stupid car by any chance take me home?" he asked.

Usopp nodded. "Course, Zoro, where else would I take you? I live right around the corner from you, too, though I doubt you would remember that."

He shrugged in response. He sure didn't remember anything about this Usopp. The Usopp he knew had lived on an island in the East Blue named Syrup Village all his life before he took off with Luffy and their crew. It looked like living in this city didn't do anything for abnormally large noses though.

Thankfully, it seemed that Zoro's question had raised another topic that Usopp was more eager to talk about, the hardware store, so his friend had completely forgotten to ask about the katanas again. Zoro half-listened as he talked about the certain type of metal screws that would be beneficial for his new design or something...it was more of the stuff that Franky would understand...and studied the man he had traveled with for so long.

This Usopp was wearing what looked like a rather expensive pair of green jeans and a nice dark brown flannel shirt, along with a floppy tan hat that held down his mass of curly hair. His hair was a bit longer, but it was tied in the back with an elastic band and then the consequential ponytail was slung over his right shoulder. He seemed older, more mature than the Usopp that Zoro knew, but his ridiculous chattering abilities were no less refined than before. Zoro watched the man's hands as he talked, waving them around and then occasionally returning them to the wheel to make a turn. It was then that Zoro spotted something odd on Usopp's left hand ring finger.

It was a gold ring. A simple, plain band that looked almost identical to the one that Zoro was wearing yesterday at the hospital before Sanji lost it.

"Oi, Usopp," Zoro said, rudely interrupting the man's story.

"Were you even listening?" his friend groused, then he looked over at Zoro. "What is it?"

Zoro pointed at the ring on Usopp's finger. "What's that for?"

Usopp looked down. "Ah, well, I guess you don't remember. Hell of a party, that was. Even you got trashed." Zoro should have figured he wouldn't get a direct answer out of Usopp, but instead a long-winded story.

"We had it sometime in June, at Kaya's estate. Luffy was my best man, but you, Sanji, Franky, Brook, and Chopper were in the bridal party, too. Since Kaya's father had passed, Merry walked Kaya down the aisle, and he was nearly in tears giving her away, sweet man. Sanji was still working at the Baratie, but they catered it and Sanji made the cake himself, which was just so delicious, we would have been eating it for weeks if not for Luffy..." he smiled at the memory.

"But what is the ring for?" Zoro insisted.

Usopp looked surprised, which was the tip off that Zoro had asked something odd. "It's my wedding ring, Zoro," he replied. "I wear it because I'm married to Kaya. I know you forgot a lot, but that's like common sense, man."

"Kaya?" Zoro asked. He recalled a skinny, sick blond girl from Usopp's village. "You married her?"

Usopp scoffed. "No need to sound so amazed, man, she married me right back."

But Zoro didn't reply because the new information was just beginning to process in his head. A gold ring on that finger was a wedding ring..and ring that showed that somebody was married. Zoro had, in fact, known this, but he had such few thoughts about marriage and weddings and things of that nature that the idea had never crossed his mind that a ring could be a _wedding_ ring.

And if Zoro was wearing a gold ring on that finger, did that mean that he was wearing a wedding ring, too? Did that mean he was married?

"Oi, Usopp," he said, interrupting the man again, since he had decided to regale Zoro on the story of how Kaya and him had first men. "Am I married?" he asked.

Usopp did not take his eyes off the road, but his hands did tighten around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. "I wouldn't call it a marriage if you can't remember it," he said. His voice sounded rather tired, as though all of the sudden he was reminded how old he was.

But Zoro was not about to be deterred. He recklessly shook his friend's shoulder, which caused him to swerve a bit across the road. Usopp quickly corrected the car and avoided an accident, but he turned to Zoro, cursing, to be met by Zoro's face, frustrated and on the edge of being angry.

"You know that I don't know these things right now, Usopp. I need to know if I'm married." Zoro couldn't bear the thought that he had a responsibility to somebody and wasn't fulfilling it. "I need to know who my wife is."

Usopp did shake or cower in fear like he often did to intimidation. Instead, he pulled over the car, and Zoro looked out the window, surprised to see that they were outside his apartment building. Usopp reached in the backseat and pulled out Zoro's back of swords and flung it in the man's lap and then reached across and opened the door for his green haired friend.

"You don't have a wife, Zoro. Now go home, I'll talk to you later."

Zoro got out of the car, but turned around to confront Usopp. "But -" he started.

Usopp shook his head. "Come on, go up and clean yourself off, you have some blood on your shirt and you don't want Sanji to worry, right? We'll talk later, I promise." He locked eyes with Zoro's own, and in that moment, Zoro could detect what his long time nakama was trying to communicate to him: now wasn't the time, but he would tell him when he was ready.

Zoro nodded in understanding, and Usopp drove off, leaving Zoro alone in front of his apartment complex, pedestrians avoiding him left and right. He pulled off his bandana and tied it around the side of his arm, looking down at his hands. There was still a tan line on his left hand ring finger from where the ring had been.

He doubted very much that Sanji had actually lost the ring. The cook had probably just confiscated it until Zoro remembered the promise he made to another person in his life, and for once, Zoro agreed with the shitty cook. It would have been disrespectful to wear that ring without remembered the promise attached to it, just like it would be disrespectful to wield Wado Ichimonji without remembering Kuina and his vow.

He suddenly felt very ashamed for lying to the blond about these jobs, for whatever reason he was lying for, and sneaking out when the man was out working to pay the rent. Why was he doing this?

Had he truly lost his sense of honor in this world?

_A/N: By the way, the cab driver says "sharmuta" which is a very not-nice word in Arabic that I happen to know because I speak too many languages for my poor brain to handle sometimes =] _

_I hope you like the new chapter, and I will keep trying to put them out as fast as possible. Love you all and thank you for reading and reviewing! Your reviews motivate me!_


	9. Chapter 9

**One Piece: I do not own One Piece. If I did, many of the male characters would constantly be drawn naked for no damn reason. In the midst of battle...dick swinging in the wind... I'll stop there.**

Zoro had taken up the spot near the aft of the deck as his new permanent napping place, and had just begun to nod off to sleep, listening to the soft rolling of the waves on the hull of the wooden ship and the distant caws of seagulls that indicated land was somewhere nearby.

He was glad to find that the crew had decided to generally leave him to himself, none of them questioning his findings with his "mysterious fortune" quite yet, although Luffy did spend a considerable time asking him this morning if he was still "mystery Zoro", despite the swordsman's insistence that the boy's hands would be "mysteriously severed" if he kept poking him like that.

But it appeared that on sea the peaceful times never lasted for long, because it was not yet lunchtime when he heard Franky bellow through the intercom from the crow's nest: "Oi, Captain, looks like there's a SUPER island up ahead!"

Zoro really tried to sleep through the commotion that followed, and yet was unable to, which was saying quite a lot, since Zoro constantly slept through the honking of horns in the city that never slept, and he also was quite adept at entering a state of deep meditation in under sixty seconds flat. But nothing could contend with the shrill and excited cries of his Captain and crew mates as they all gathered at the bow to see the island they were coming upon.

Cracking an eyelid open, Zoro looked up to see Robin standing beside him, her arms crossed over her volumptuous chest, one hand raised to her face, a finger tapping her lips in consideration. "Looks like a summer island, how lovely," she commented.

"A summer island?" he asked.

"Yes," she responded. "Here on the Grand Line many of the islands have their own strict seasonal temperatures, for example, Chopper came from a winter island where it snowed year round, regardless of the time of year."

"Ridiculous," Zoro murmured. He wasn't a star student in science, but he knew enough atmospheric study to know that this was beyond physically impossible. But then again, so were fruits that turned your body into rubber.

"Well," the archaeologist beside him began, "I'm sure there are some things that we would find ridiculous about your world. Like flying transportation." Zoro was about to comment that planes could be explained by science, none of which he understood, but the woman was apparently not finished.

"Or romantic relationships," she added, and then she looked down at Zoro with the most frustratingly knowing smile he had ever seen. He leapt to his feet and got up in her face.

"What did Luffy tell you?" he growled at her. "I'll kill that kid."

Robin chuckled lightly to herself, her smile widening. "He didn't tell me anything, swordsman-san...although your reaction told me quite a lot."

Zoro glanced at his Captain who was now sitting on the head of the Thousand Sunny's lion, pointing with exhausting exaggeration at the land mass ahead of them. Of course Luffy hadn't said anything, why did he jump to conclusions like that? He let that manipulative witch trick him once again, like she always did.

He turned back Robin and attempted to fix her with his deadliest stare, but he sensed from her unwavering smile that it was rather weak-willed. "Don't say a word about your suspicions to anyone," he ordered.

Playfully, she dragged her fingers across her lips as if zipping them shut. "Not a peep, Zoro-san. It is your secret to tell, after all."

"That's right," he insisted, and just before he stomped off, he turned and added, "But there will be no telling of secrets!" And then he made haste to the crow's nest, rudely kicking Franky out to lift some weights and clear his mind. Perhaps he was acting childish - actually, he was in most certainty acting childish - but that knowing look on the woman's face rubbed him the entirely wrong way. I mean, was it so obvious after all?

He looked out the window between lunges, down at Sanji who was rushing off to prepare what Luffy kept calling "Pirate Bentos." He had been trying to steal glances only when no one else could see him, and he had not yet made one move of physical or verbal affection to the cook, so how the hell could she know?

The saddest thing in Zoro's eyes was, also, that it wasn't that difficult at most times to maintain this facade, at least while other people were around. He didn't know if it was more him or Sanji, but the two of them had somewhat silently and mutually agreed not to share any forms of physical displays of affection. They could justify it in public, because while New York was a liberal city, there were still many who frowned upon or felt uncomfortable with homosexuality and would target them for it - not that Sanji and him couldn't mop the floor with them in seconds. But even in front of their friends, who accepted their sexuality and encouraged their relationship, they refrained from even the slightest of touches. Now in these moments, Zoro desperately wished that he had not been so careless; he wished he had cherished those moments he had with Sanji and had never taken his hands off of him, not for a second, because now he never knew if he could touch the man he loved in the same way ever again.

ZOSAN

It was not too much later, and the entire crew was gathered on deck. There was a rather large town that took up the western side of the island, so they had made port on the eastern side, just so as to not attract any unwanted attention. At the moment, Nami was going through a checklist of inventories in one hand and was scowling at the record of finances in the other hand.

"Meat!" Luffy declared. "We need to buy lots of meat!"

"No," Nami insisted, "We don't." She didn't turn away from her paperwork though, still anxiously clicking her pen on the table as she looked back and forth between the two lists.

"Well," Robin said softly, a small bag slung over her shoulder, "I want to see if I can find anything out about the history of this island."

"Yohohoho," Brook said, "What a novel idea! I think I should accompany you, Robin-san, and it would be lovely if you would be so kind as to show me your -"

The skeleton didn't get to finish what he was about to say as Sanji jumped from nowhere and landed a kick on the man's afro-donning skull. It was with a large, and impossibly growing, lump on his head that the skeleton dejectedly followed the woman he agreed to go with, who seemed unaffected by the sexual advance, and perhaps even slightly amused.

"Usopp-bro and I would like to stay on the ship and work on this SUPER new cannon we have. We'll stop in the town later if there's anything we need that we don't have here," Franky said.

"Okay, okay," Nami said, "And I want to work on surveying some the of land for my maps before Luffy does something that makes us have to run from the island with marines on our trail."

"Oi!" Luffy called out. "That's unfair!"

Nobody commented.

"Would it be okay if I went into town to pick up some supplies then, Nami-san, my dear?" Sanji asked. Zoro nearly sneered in disgust the way he asked permission to spend money that he was very sure the cook had put much effort into obtaining.

But Nami nodded to him and handed over a set stack of bills. "Okay, here you go, Sanji, but I think you should take someone with you just in case."

Sanji replied by swooning and asking, "Is my dearest Nami-swan concerned about me?" but Zoro was ignoring his twirly dance and he saw an opportunity flash before his eyes.

"I'll go to town with the cook," he said, trying to sound nonchalant about it. "I need to replenish the oils in my sword-cleaning kit anyway."

Sanji looked up at the swordsman with dark eyes of distress. "I don't want to go into town with you, shitty marimo," he spat.

But Nami said, "Sounds good," and began to refile her papers and the cash to be spent at a later date. Zoro was tempted to look at the cook smugly, but resisted it, instead just watching as the blond held the bridge of his nose with two fingers, shaking his head and muttering and cursing to himself. Typical Sanji.

"Yosh!" Luffy exclaimed. "This means you and I can adventure, Chopper!" Chopper looked up at Luffy, not sure if he should be intimidated or excited, but he didn't have much time to contemplate a negative response or an excuse before a rubbery arm wrapped around his torso and he was ripped from the deck of the ship with the cries of _Gomu Gomu No Rocket!_

Zoro watched them go for a moment and then walked over and tapped the cook on his shoulder. "Looks like you're stuck with me, curly brow, so let's get a move on."

Sanji dismally pocketed the money and headed for the rigging, refusing to look at Zoro the entire time. As Zoro followed him, he couldn't help but think how ironic it was that for the first time in his life, he was excited to go shopping with the cook. He recalled Christmas season and birthdays and just other shopping expeditions, holding the cooks bags and they wandered from shop to shop, in what seemed like a thousand different malls. And no matter how much he detested the question, he couldn't wait to hear Sanji say, "how do you think this tastes" or "how do you think I look in this?"

But as he followed the man down the path that led into town, he realized he probably would not hear that anytime soon, seeing as this Sanji clearly could care less about Zoro's opinions.

ZOSAN

It was about a five mile walk to the town from their ship, which would take them a little over an hour on most days, but Sanji seemed to be determined to cut his time with the swordsman as short as possible and had begun to walk exceedingly and almost embarrassingly fast. Zoro followed behind, keeping pace but still trying to drag the cook back just a tad. Not that he minded walking behind Sanji, watching his strong, long legs take long strides, eyeing the firm shape of his ass.

If Zoro hadn't been so distracted by this sight, he would've noticed the people following them sooner. Nonetheless, he did notice, and he kept his mouth shut as he watched them from his periphereal vision. It was a group of men, and they were not in Marine garb, but they were armed to the teeth and appeared to have malicious intent. After Zoro noticed them following for a good twenty minutes, he spoke up.

"Oi, cook, we're being followed."

"I know," Sanji snapped back. "Bounty hunters. I was trying to ignore them."

"Bounty hunters, huh?" Zoro smiled. It sounded more like his profession. "So does that mean we have bounties on our heads? And is it _dead or alive_?"

Sanji glanced back. He grunted in affirmation, but made no move to elaborate. Zoro stepped forward and glanced at Sanji's face, slightly curious. He had expected to have the man bragging about his bounty the minute they were mentioned, but Sanji was silent, and when Zoro saw his face, he had an idea why. It was faint, but the cook was blushing. For a second Zoro was reminded vividly of how often that blush appeared during their sexual encounters, but he shook the thought from his head. This was a differently blush entirely.

"Oh, cook, what's wrong? No bounty for you?" he teased.

"I have a bounty!" Sanji insisted. "And it's a damn good one too!"

"Sure about that? Should I ask our friends around us as to what it is?"

It appeared that Zoro didn't have to call for the bounty hunters to join their conversation, though, because apparently they had already been listening. A hunter stepped forward from the shadows of the bush to his right, where Zoro had known he was all along, brandishing a sword. "Seventy-seven million beli," the man said with sick grin twisting his already mangled facial features. "And one twenty hundred million beli for you, Pirate Hunter Zoro."

Zoro's sword clashed with the man's own. "Pirate Hunter Zoro?" he asked. "I like that." Following his declaration, he swiftly cut the bounty hunter down. Far too easy. He turned and looked to see Sanji had already become engaged in a battle of his own, easily dispatching the men who had rushed him.

The swordsman had no time to linger on the battles of his accompaniment though, as the remainder of the bounty hunter band had circled in on him. He clashed swords and was met with some resistance. It appeared that the men had studied their moves. He could find flaws but he did have to concentrate for a second or two and study the fighting style of each man before he was able to take him down. As he was fighting, he continually glanced at Sanji, who was now using his _Party Table Kick Course_ move, where the cook placed his hands on the ground and turned, kicking down anybody who came in contact with his black spinning legs.

It was in this moment that Zoro realized the fatal flaw on this move. This was the one and only move in which Sanji took his hands from his pockets while fighting and actually moved them from his side. And it appeared that he was not the only one who had noticed this flaw, as a hunter was now already bent down low, swinging his sword full force at Sanji's exposed wrists.

It was only a couple of seconds, but Zoro's heightened senses that came to him in battle could quickly calculate the outcomes of every action he and his enemy made. If he allowed the man to finish his blow, with that force behind the blade, the cook would most assuredly loose at least one of his precious hands. But he was on the wrong side of the situation to intercept the other man's blade. Therefore, there was no other choice.

He was going to have to take the hit.

But as Zoro was moving forward to take the hit, which would hurt, he was aware, but would not be fatal, something quite unexpected happened. He landed in front of Sanji, but behind him, Sanji had already descended from his attack, taking out everybody but the last fighter, whose blade was currently still headed for Zoro at full speed, blocking its route to Sanji. And although Zoro was sharp in instinct in battle, he supposed he had severely underestimated the cook's ability as well, because Sanji cursed loudly, saying,

"You fucking idiot marimo!"

Before he roughly swung his arms around Zoro's torso and hit him with the full force of a football player linebacker and then some, sending Zoro flying to the ground, Sanji landing on top of him. And then from his position Sanji rolled over, now seated on top of Zoro's stomach, and aimed a kick up their former attacker's jaw, breaking it in one fell swoop and knocking his unconscious.

Zoro glanced around at the aftermath of the battle. A good dozen and a half burly and talented bounty hunters lay unconscious or worse, strewn across their path. Sanji was still seated atop of him, on his groin. The blond cook turned and looked at Zoro, and the swordsman was taken aback. Sanji's face was contorted with such profound rage, his eyebrow twitching and his lips pursed.

"You fucking idiot," he repeated what he had said earlier. "Why would you do that?"

"Do what?" Zoro asked defensively. "Try to save your life? You would have lost your damn hands, I didn't know you saw the guy! Thanks for the gratitude, shit cook."

Sanji twisted his body so that he was straddling Zoro, but both were so caught up in the rage of the moment that they hardly noticed the sexuality that could have lain behind the manuveur. He grabbed a fistful of Zoro's white shirt and pulled his face closer to his own, as if just so Zoro could better see the Sanji playing across his face.

"Stop doing that bullshit!" he insisted. "Stop sacrificing yourself to protect people, especially me! I can't believe you still don't trust me in battle!" He roughly shook Zoro, his upper lip curling in disgust as he finished, saying, "I can't believe you think I'm so weak!"

Zoro was aware that the look on his face was most likely akin to horror. So that was what this was about? Sanji really thought that Zoro thought he was weak? If it was presented in any other sort of situation, Zoro may have laughed at the absurdity of it. In fact, it was because Sanji was so strong was why Zoro had fallen in love with the man. He loved that when he pushed the man could push back, he loved in bed when they fought for dominance, he loved that this man was strong physically, yes, but also emotionally strong enough to put his emotions out there with all his heart, a feat Zoro was never able to accomplish, and daily allow them to be mauled to pieces by the cold people of the world... and yet the cook never relented giving it his all, following his dream and passion, telling the truth of what he wanted and why.

As these thoughts ran through his head, Sanji was still above him, clenching the fabric of his shirt, still fuming as breathing heavily. It was as these thoughts ran through Zoro's head that he noticed a wetness growing in his pants, and it was completely unrelated to his own anatomy. Noticing this at the same time perhaps, Sanji sat back, finally complacent.

"I can't go shopping like this," the cook said.

Zoro reached down and behind Sanji and lightly touched his pants and then brought the hand back up to his face. Blood. It was covered in blood. There was blood leaking on his pants, and yet Zoro could not identify a single wound on his body. And then he looked up at the cook straddling him, who was steadily growing paler underneath his gaze. He slowly inched his hand back behind Sanji and lightly touched the man's back, ignoring the wincing on the blond's face that accompanied it.

The back of Sanji's shirt was soaked, soaked completely through with blood. It was from when the man had slashed at them, while Sanji was shoving Zoro out of the way. Zoro had avoided the blow, but because Sanji was protecting him, because Zoro had to be stupid and heroic and untrustworthy of Sanji's abilities in battle, Sanji had taken that heavy blow to the back and was now bleeding heavily on Zoro's lap.

"Sanji," Zoro said. He voice came out hoarse, broken.

"What, asshole? It's your damn fault." Sanji scoffed and got up off Zoro, as if he was gushing blood from a deep gash in his back. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at the swordsman. Zoro sat up and fought the urge to bury his head in his hands. It was his damn fault. How could he be so stupid?

But there were more pressing matters at hand. For example, Sanji's wellbeing. His physical wellbeing. Although Zoro had seen the man with cuts and bruises and broken bones, he had never thought he would ever see the man loosing so much blood at such a rapid pace. It was, quite frankly, his nightmare, and the stupid cook was acting like this was an everyday occurrence.

And Zoro didn't care less if the man's pride dictated that he should stand there and pretend like he was able to walk back to the ship. The swordsman sheathed his katanas and did something that Sanji never saw coming, something that this Zoro had done a million times or more.

He flung the lithe blond over his shoulder and began to walk.

"Oi, baka, put me down," Sanji insisted, rapping his fists against Zoro's broad back none too lightly. There would be bruises there in the morning.

"Not a chance in hell," Zoro replied tersely, before shifting the cook to a more secure position where he wouldn't shift around as much and broke off in to a run.

He expected Sanji's ministrations to continue, but the man had suddenly gone limp. "Wrong direction, marimo," he murmured. "Opposite way." His voice sounded sleepy, which only caused Zoro to increase his pace, now in the opposite direction, for he felt in the slowness of his breathing and in the dead weight of his body that Sanji had most definitely passed out.

They needed to get to Chopper, and fast. Zoro doubted it he'd ever run that fast again in his life.

ZOSAN

It was seven hours later and Zoro was still sitting in the infirmary. Everybody had returned to the ship, as if called by some sort of distress homing signal, and Chopper had dressed Sanji's wounds and assured the crew that Sanji would be fine, he just needed rest, and at the speed of recovery the man was known for, he would be up and running by no time.

Since there, they left Sanji to rest alone on the sick bed, but Zoro had stayed. Everybody had tried in their own way to coax him out of there, and eventually he had relented. He went to the kitchen, brewed Sanji's favorite black tea just the way he liked it, placed it in a insulated mug and went back to the man's beside. He had not moved since then, about an hour ago, and he had no plans to until Sanji was better.

At the moment Zoro was sitting with his head literally between his knees, his arms straight out in front of him, grasping the side of the warm mug of tea, holding it forward like it was an offering. He could not bring himself to look at Sanji for too long. He often watched the man while he was sleeping, but it was always a delightful experience, seeing his soft smile sometimes, or simply watching the serene expression on his beautiful face. He was often so tempted when watching his sleep to just kiss wherever he could put his lips, but he never would, for fear of waking the man and breaking that perfect expression. More so, he would never want to disturb Sanji's dreams. Zoro had the idea that Sanji's dreams were so much more vivid, so much more passionate and invigorated that his own must pale in comparison. He would never want to ruin something so precious.

This time, it was very different. Sanji's face did not appear peaceful, it appeared ghostly. He was pale, far too pale, his hair splayed sloppily over his one eye like always, his lean and toned chest wrapped in bandages due to the wound on his back. Although Zoro was sure it was his imagination, he felt also that the man looked thin, which put a feeling in the pit of his stomach like a coil of despair that nearly threatened to reach up and strangle him. Although Sanji was, in actuality, a thin man, he was toned and healthy and just small in frame. But the thought of Sanji, who loved food so much, and who had, at one point in his life, been on death's doorstep due to lack of nourishment, in an underfed state - it was too much for Zoro to bear. Sanji had made it his life's mission, in Zoro's eyes, to feed as many hungry people to the best of his ability, and he had done so a thousand times over. To let this man grow thin or unhealthy was a disrespect to all the cook had provided in his lifetime.

And the worst part in Zoro's eyes was that it really was all his fault that the man he had sworn to protect until death do us part was now pale and wounded, just beyond his fingertips.

It was then that Zoro felt his fingertips begin to loose hold on what they held, which was the mug of tea. But instead of it falling to the ground, he realized that someone was slowly picking it up. Releasing his death grip on the mug, he looked up into Sanji's tired, bagged eyes.

"This for me?" Sanji asked. "It smells like black tea, and you like green, right?"

Zoro nodded.

Sanji raised the mug to his lips and took a sip. "Not bad, shitty swordsman, where'd you learn to make a proper cup of tea?"

"You," Zoro replied shortly. "You bitched until I made it the way you wanted."

The cook didn't comment on this, and continued to sip his tea in the silence. As the minutes stretched out, Zoro lowered his head once more to rest in his hands, staring at the ground. Although Sanji was awake, and had a bit more color, he still felt far too ashamed to raise his head.

"I didn't mean it."

Zoro looked up at Sanji who was looking straight at him with soft, honest eyes. "I didn't mean it," he repeated. "When I said it was your fault. Don't take it so seriously, idiot. It was just a stupid mistake, that's all."

"No, it wasn't," Zoro insisted. He clenched his fists around the fabric on his pants and then tried to open them and release them, trying desperately to control the roiling storm of emotion thundering in his chest. "It was my fault, and you were hurt. You _are_ hurt. You could have been hurt worse."

At these words, Sanji snorted rather ungentlemanly. "Since when do you care so much?" he asked scathingly.

These words probably hurt more than the fact that Sanji's injuries were his fault, but this Zoro could at least set right. He leaned forward and took the mug of tea from Sanji's hands, setting it on the desk behind him, and then he took Sanji's hands in his own. The cook looked bewildered but did not pull away, and while not grasping Zoro's hands in return, he allowed the swordsman to hold them desperately, probably squeezing his knuckles together in the process.

"I _always_ cared, Sanji."

The cook could no longer look into Zoro's eye in the intensity of the moment, and Zoro was vaguely reminded when he himself was like that. In fact, both of them were in the beginning of their relationship, unable to say the words _I love you_ and when they first did it was without eye contact and often screamed amongst a tirade of curses. But now, Zoro was no longer afraid of his emotions for Sanji and he patiently held on to the cook's hands as Sanji stared down at his lap.

"Well, at least New York Zoro always cared," he muttered, and it sounded almost childish to Zoro's ears, as if he was trying to goad Zoro to say something, but he couldn't figure out what it was, so he just replied honestly.

"I honestly don't know about Pirate Hunter Zoro, but I'm the only Zoro I know, and I know that even when you annoy the shit out of me, which is _always_, I care, and I always cared from the moment I met you and I always will care no matter what you do to piss me the fuck off, which I know you will do." Zoro paused, and then smiled, adding, "often."

Sanji took in a shallow gasp and looked, wide-eyed, back to the swordsman. He studied the man's face for many seconds, as if trying to measure his honest, and then his eyes widened even more as his vision settled upon Zoro's honest eyes, the eyes he was attempting to pour all of his emotion into.

But the cook's words were a bit unexpected in this intimate moment, as he said, "Were you crying, you asshole? That's so unmanly."

Zoro tore his hands from the cook's and touched his face, but felt no tears. "No!" he said. "Why they hell would you say that? I wasn't crying!"

"Then why are your eyes all red?" Sanji pressed.

"Because I was tired, baka cook, tired!" This was the truth, as Zoro was tired, and he was sure that although he may have come close to crying in the past seven hours, he had most certainly not actually cried, and there was no way he'd even admit to feeling that much.

Sanji didn't respond at first, but he fumbled with his shirt, which was folded beside the bed, and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, lighting one up, never taking his eyes off Zoro's face the entire time. After his first drag, though, he broke into a proud-looking smile. "You _were_ crying over me," he declared. He seemed positively delighted over it.

"I'm going to cut you again if you say that one more time," Zoro threatened.

It didn't take long for their usual bickering to come out into the open after that line, but as they passed back and forth petty insults, Zoro couldn't help but wonder why Sanji would be happy about Zoro crying over him. Was Sanji truly that happy that Zoro cared? He knew that Sanji didn't know Zoro loved him, but to think that Zoro didn't even care for his nakama?

He knew it wasn't because of the fights and bickering, because Sanji enjoyed them just as much, if not more than Zoro did. So what was the reason why Sanji distrusted his crew mate's devotion to him?

...Was it possible that Sanji truly didn't think he was loved?

Although he was still trying to come back with a response to "seaweed-for-brains", Zoro nearly smirked triumphantly at the challenge he had just presented to himself. If Sanji wanted to know whether Zoro or the rest of the crew cared or not, he was going to show that cook. And the cook probably wouldn't know what hit him.

_A/N: Read and review please please please, I love you all and all your wonderful reviews! You put a huge smile on my face! _


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I will own the One Piece! Zehahahah! **

**Me: *punches out Blackbeard* Get the fuck out of my fanfiction. Oh, and Oda owns One Piece. Forever. Until Luffy gets it.**

Zoro had considered watching television or lifting weights when he got upstairs, but after he finished cleaning his swords and placing them back on the shelf, he just found himself staring at the ceiling, laying in the couch in lethargy, unable to go to sleep. He was still laying like this when Sanji came home an hour or so later. Zoro didn't even glance at him at first when he walked through the door, until an unusual burst of color caught his eye.

Sitting up, Zoro looked over the lip of the couch at Sanji, who was in his traditional suit but carrying in one hand a bag of what was probably food from work, and in his other hand, a large bouquet of yellow roses and blue forget-me-nots.

"Who are the flowers for, love cook?" Zoro asked.

"Me," Sanji replied shortly. He began to open the bouquet at the counter and took out a vase and then a pair of kitchen shears. Zoro watched as he snipped the stalks and arranged the flowers methodically, as though he had done it many times before, and he was sure that the stupid love cook had. When the arrangement was completed to the cook's satisfaction, he took out the card that was attached to it, read it, smiled, and then tucked it in his blazer pocket before making about cleaning up. When it began clear that he wasn't going to elaborate, Zoro's curiosity won out.

"From who?" he asked in spite of himself.

"Someone special," Sanji replied. He opened the other bag he had brought home with him and took out a silver container and then stuck it in the microwave to heat it up. Although Zoro only got a passing glance at it, it appeared to be some sort of lobster dish. Ignoring the desperate rumbling of his stomach, he pressed forward.

"But why? Who would send you flowers? It isn't your birthday, is it?"

Sanji shook his head. "No birthday, not even an anniversary. Just...because. Just to see my smile, I guess." And with that he looked Zoro straight in the eye and did just so, he smiled, bright and honest and not at all forced. "Besides, it's springtime, and I needed something seasonal to cheer up the kitchen."

Zoro collapsed back into the cushions of the couch, throwing his arms behind his head. "Whatever," he sighed. "Is that food for me?"

"Of course it's for you," Sanji said. "I need you to try it and tell me what you think. It's a new lobster dish I'm trying out, with grilled lobster over spanish rice with this new orange chipotle vinaigrette I mixed up. I made it right before I left so it still should taste pretty fresh..." He was interrupted by the _ding_ of the microwave. Zoro did not look up, but he heard him dish the meal off on to a plate and fumble around with some seasonings. He hardly could understand why, seeing as he would have ate it from the silver container if asked to, especially seeing as how hungry he was at the moment, not having eaten all day. Finally, the noises ceased and Sanji called "Come eat at the counter, marimo bastard, like a civilized human being."

Acting as though he begrudged to do so, Zoro rose and walked to the counter and sat on the barstool. The dish honestly looked delicious, and it was more decorated than Zoro had ever seen his own food. In fact, he had only seen this kind of labor put into special dishes that Sanji usually served for the ladies. He almost felt ashamed to eat it and ruin the artful masterpiece on the plate, but then his stomach rumbled and all feelings of that nature evaporated. He dug in.

"Well?" Sanji asked after his third bite. "How is it?"

Zoro wiped his mouth with his forearm. "Good, I guess," he replied honestly. "But I haven't eaten all day, so anything would taste good to me right now."

As he finished his sentence Zoro jumped in his chair in response to the noise Sanji had made kicking the drawers under the sink. The cook turned around from his spot washing dishes and glared at his roommate. "What the fuck, marimo? Why didn't you eat all day?"

Zoro pointed to the fridge. "Lock. Don't know the code."

"Yes you do!" Sanji insisted, but then he appeared taken aback. A soft blush appeared on his cheeks and he quickly turned away. "Okay, well maybe you don't, but you could've called and asked."

"I figured you wouldn't tell me," Zoro replied. He licked his fork of the last of his meal that he had finished with gusto. "Can I have a beer?"

Sanji reached for the fridge and punched in the code, taking out a beer and tossing it quickly to him. "I can't believe you want beer after such a delicate meal," he muttered, and then added at bit louder, indicating that Zoro was meant to listen to it, "And I would have fucking told you. What makes you think I'd want you to go hungry?"

Zoro twisted the top of the beer off and downed half of it in one chug. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve again, he thumped the bottle down on the counter, letting out a loud belch. "I don't know," he said in response to Sanji's question. "It's not like I'd die without eating for a day."

"I know," Sanji snapped, lighting a cigarette. "But I still wouldn't want you to go hungry, baka. I like feeding people, especially people I care about."

Zoro nearly spluttered out the beer he had just sipped. It wasn't as if he didn't know Sanji cared about him - he knew this, because Sanji was his nakama and as nakama they would die to protect each other. He knew this because Sanji worried about his health and on the ship the cook would wake him up when he was napping for every meal, no matter how impossible he was to wake. The shock came from the openness and the unashamed undertones of the words. Sanji had just simply stated he cared for Zoro, and he wasn't adding any insults to the end of it to tone down the importance of those words down, nor was he looking away or hiding his face. Although Zoro, as a reserved person, found it enticing to tease Sanji's open emotions, he found he could not this time, because it was so blatant and so trusting that Zoro knew he would only be childish to respond in insults or jeers.

"I know." He set down his beer. "Why don't you tell me the code, then?"

Sanji opened his mouth as though he was going to respond, but then he clamped it shut very tightly, as if he were afraid the words were about to come up. His face turned very red at a very rapid pace, not just his cheeks flushing but also the rest of his lighter skin. And once he had turned completely scarlet, he began to laugh. A loud, exploding, knee-slapping laugh and Zoro couldn't help but stare at dumbfounded.

"What?" he insisted. "What the fuck was so funny?"

The cook sucked desperately need air through his lips into his lungs and gently patted the counter in an attempt to calm down. "Oh, no," he whispered. "I'm not going to tell you. I have a much better idea."

Zoro raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

All the sudden, Sanji stopped laughing and he looked up and locked eyes with Zoro. His glare was intense and immediately Zoro felt a shiver run all the way through his body - it careened down his spine and up his arms and tingled in his fingertips and even, which nearly brought a flush of unexplained shame to Zoro's cheeks, sent a twitch running through his groin.

"Revenge," Sanji explained, but he had growled the word and the swordsman felt as though the places he had just shivered were on fire with the hunger to - to - to what? To devour something? Maybe it was just pent up energy from the engagement earlier today...

"Revenge for what?" Zoro asked, trying to focus, but he felt as though he eyes kept shifting, glancing over Sanji's opened shirt that revealed his neck and jutting collar bone and just the hint of the shape of his pectorals, his trim waist and hips, his long and steady fingers. Why couldn't he concentrate?

"You wouldn't remember," Sanji said dismissively, waving a hand. Then he moved, breaking eye contact, and Zoro felt like the spell was broken. His body no longer shivered nor was on fire, yet his eyes still followed the cook around the kitchen as the cook talked. "But I'm not going to just tell you. I'll make sure you get fed, but if you want the code, if you want booze when I'm not around," he fixed Zoro with a knowing glare, "then you're going to have to _persuade_ me to tell you."

Zoro groaned. "Persuade you? Are you serious, shitty cook? How am I going to do that?"

Sanji smiled dreamily. He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a box of what looked like little cupcakes that he was sure the cook had made. Zoro watched as the cook licked the white cream on the top of the treat slowly, his deft tongue lapping as if a kitten's. It took a moment for Zoro to realize that he was mesmerized again. "You managed to persuade me last time," the cook murmured softly. "I'm sure you'll manage."

Then he took a quite bite from the cupcake and walked away, effectively ending the conversation. Zoro knew it was done, but he could not move from his barstool. He sat there and stared avidly where the cook had previously stood, replaying him licking the cream from the cupcake. He could not understand why he was so interested in the cook's stupid tongue all of the sudden, but he did know that the man was playing some sort of game with him and he didn't like it at all.

ZOSAN

_Zoro was lost. This was not uncommon for the swordsman, but at this moment it deeply unsettled him, because he was filled with the feeling that there was somewhere he needed to be, and urgently so. He tore through a forest of some sort, slashing down any growth that got in his way, desperately tearing through undergrowth, ignoring the scratches that blossomed on his uncovered arms. _

_He heard a voice cry out somewhere near by, a cry of pain, and he suddenly remembered what he was looking for. The cook. Sanji. He needed to find Sanji because Sanji was hurt and for some odd reason Zoro knew, deep in his bones, that it was all his fault. _

_Without even trying to pinpoint the voice, he just tore through the next wall of shrubbery, knowing instinctively that the cook would be behind it. And he was. Sanji was standing still, his pupils dilated. The cook stumbled backward as though he had been shot, and then stumbled forward a few steps, before collapsing on his knees._

_Zoro wanted to go to him. He wanted to check him for injuries. He wanted to ask who had done this to him. He wanted to call for Chopper or his captain or anybody, but he was struck with the horrific realization that he was unable to move._

_So, helpless, he stood and watched as blood began to drip down behind Sanji, collecting in a pool underneath the man's knees, ruining his expensive, pinstriped black dress pants that he was wearing. He watched as the cook ignored his wounds and instead stared straight at Zoro and said in cold, chilling words: 'It's all your fault."_

_Still unable to move, Zoro noticed that the cook had something in his hands that was not there before. He was holding it delicately, as if it were fragile and prone to break - no, something in Zoro told him that whatever was in Sanji's hands was already broken._

_The cook held out his hands and opened them to Zoro. It was a maroon and purpled still-beating heart. Sanji's heart. Zoro didn't know how he knew this, but he did. Sanji was holding his heart out to Zoro and if Zoro didn't take it Sanji would die._

_But Zoro couldn't move. _

"_Why?" Sanji asked, and since he was on his knees and looked so pitifully wounded it appeared as if he was begging, although the swordsman believed the cook would never truly beg. "Why would you do this?" Then again, "It's all your fault..."_

Zoro woke up with sweat dripping down the tip of his nose, heart pumping, a scream caught in his throat. He looked around frantically but could barely see anything in the darkness of the living room. But he was in the living room of the flat in New York City, definitely not in a forest in front of a bleeding Sanji.

And that was when he realized that something had woken him up besides his horror. Set out on the coffee table next to him was his phone, and it was lit up and ringing shrilly. Still shaking, Zoro wiped the sweat from his brow with one hand and then reached for his phone with the other.

"What?" he barked into the receiver once he picked up.

"It's me," said the voice on the other line. Smoker. "Did I wake blondie up?"

Zoro looked down the hall at the bedroom door. There was no movement from that direction, nor any sounds. "No. What do you want?"

"Good. I just wanted to let you know I wired the money into that savings account you have set up, not your joint one with blondie before you freak out again, the other private one."

"You really had to call me at this hour to tell me that?" Zoro replied.

"Shut up, asshole, I had half a mind not to pay you when we got there and saw Peterman still breathing. The paramedics wound up patching him back together and it looks like he'll pull through and live a long and healthy life... behind bars, that is, but still, Roronoa, I told you to bleed him out."

"Oh?" Zoro said. "So he did live. Guess that big guy had more blood in him than I thought."

Smoker groaned, but coming through the speakers of his phone it sounded more like the crackling of heavy machinery. "Why didn't you kill him, Roronoa?"

"Too pitiful," Zoro answered.

On the other end, Zoro heard a loud thumping noise and then something shattered. It appeared as though Smoker had thrown something breakable across the room. "Damn it, Roronoa, you always say that, but last time we tried to catch Peterman he laid a good handful of my men down." He paused for a moment, reigning in his temper. "You certainly pull your weight of trouble...but I guess if it wasn't for you, I'd loose a lot of good men in the force."

Zoro didn't respond, although the silence left behind these words made it clear he was meant to. Eventually, he grunted into the receiver.

"I mean it, Roronoa. Your worth every penny of that hundred grand I just dumped in your account. So don't go getting yourself killed with your recklessness. Apparently one of the girls they had collected was conscious and saw you. If word about your identity ever leaked out, you know who would be in trouble."

The room suddenly felt very small, even with its high ceiling and open spaces. Zoro glanced down the hallway where he knew the bedroom lay with Sanji sleeping soundly. Every inch of darkness in the room seemed threatening, even with the soft light of dawn beginning to leak through the curtains. "You'd think they'd go after Sanji?"

"I _know_ they'd go after him, idiot, and so do you." Smoker breathed out heavily and Zoro could imagine him in his cloud of smoke from his cigars. "I'm not trying to scare you, Roronoa, but I've never met an undercover assassin who was able to settle down peacefully. I have faith in you, but in my experience, things always go wrong in the end. The past doesn't stay buried, even when the men are dead."

An imagine flashed through Zoro's mind, the fuzzy remnants of his dream. Sanji bleeding on the ground, Zoro helpless and unable to move, and the words _it's all your fault_. "I want him safe, Smoker," he said. It was just what he desired at the moment, but it came out more like an order.

"I know, Roronoa, you've said it a thousand times." Zoro heard the faint clicking of a lighter and he heard Smoker breath in deeply. "Maybe we can arrange that if we get to the bottom of this. You got my names for me?"

Zoro recalled yesterday afternoon when he had the nervous man pleading with him at the tip of his sword. "Yeah," he said gruffly. "The big, pathetic one said he just transports the girls to Disco's shop, and said Disco worked for someone by the name of Donquixote Doflamingo."

Smoker cursed. "Fuck, Doflamingo? I should have known."

"That bad?" Zoro asked.

"It's hard to catch a whiff of the man, he's as sly and slippery as a fox. But yeah, it's bad, Roronoa. He's pulled all sorts of dirty tricks in the past, I'm pulling up his file now and it's not pretty." Zoro heard some clacking of keys in the background. "I'll call you if we get any other news, but for now...watch your back, Roronoa. Watch your back and we'll watch blondie for you."

"I'll watch him myself," Zoro insisted. "I can take care of it."

"Fine," Smoker replied, sounding terse. "But if I have to put you assholes in witness protection program, I know you won't be happy."

Zoro didn't bother asking what witness protection program was, but he was sure it would mean leaving his friends behind. "I'll be careful, Smoker, now shut up."

"Fine, I'll catch you later, Roronoa."

_Click_. Zoro pressed the red button on his own phone and placed it down on the table, and rubbed his hands through his hair in frustration, growling under his breath. He was so caught up in his worrying that he jumped out of his seat when he heard another voice from the hall.

"Smoker?" it said. Zoro saw Sanji, standing there at the edge of the hallway, dressed in Zoro's black hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. The hoodie was too big on his small frame and the cook was swimming in it, the edges of the sleeves covering over his hands completely. But despite the quaint and waif-like appearance of his dress, the look on Sanji's face was not cute in any way, shape or form. In fact, there was only one word to describe it. Sanji was livid.

"Smoker?" he asked again. "Want to tell me why the _fuck_ you were talking to Smoker?"

Zoro felt his upper lip curl in anger. His frustration was already running high, from the disturbing dream to the unsettling phone call, and now this, caught in lies that he barely understood. "It's not your business, shitty cook," he snapped.

Sanji pounded his fist into the wall. "Yes it is! Your business is my business, and you've been lying to me."

"Not lying," Zoro responded. "Just not telling the whole truth." He held out his left hand and pointed to his ring finger. "And I'm not stupid, shitty cook, I know you've been hiding things from me too. So until you come clean, don't expect me to."

The cook clenched his fists so hard he was in danger of ruining his delicate and prized hands with his fingernails. "Anything I didn't tell you," he said, forcing the words out from behind his teeth, "was for your own protection. This is different. You promised me you wouldn't talk with Smoker anymore."

Zoro shrugged. "Don't remember that promise."

Sanji hung his head, his blonde fringe completely obscuring his face in shadows, although he seemed to be chewing on his bottom lip, determined to tear it apart. "You fucker," he cursed. "That's the whole bloody point. Don't expect me to tell you about promises that you don't remember," he raised his head and Zoro couldn't help but suck a deep gasp of air through his teeth. By the thin light of dawn, he could see the shining of tears in the cook's eye. One fell free and tumbled down his cheek toward his quivering jawline.

"Don't expect me to tell you about promises you don't remember," he repeated. "Especially when you clearly don't intend to keep them."

With those words, the cook stormed passed him and snatched some keys up from the counter and started shoving his feet into the shoes laid out by the doorstep. "Where are you going?" Zoro asked, standing up. "It's like five in the morning -"

"I'm going downstairs to Luffy's," Sanji cut him off. "Don't follow me." He rubbed at his eyes furiously before opening the door.

"Look, Sanji, I'm -"

Sanji turned around, legs spread apart, shoulders hunched, in complete fighting stance, his hands in tight fists. "Shut up!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "You don't get to call me by my name!" He raised one hand and clenched at the black hoodie, Zoro's hoodie, that he was still wearing, right above his heart. "You aren't Zoro! You aren't my Zoro! So don't fucking apologize for shit you don't understand!"

And for the second time in less then twelve hours, Zoro was left alone in the room, watching the slamming door this time, completely without a word or thought crossing through his mind. It took him a while, but eventually he sunk down on to the couch and sat there once more, replaying the conversation over and over again in his head, berating himself and wondering how everything had gone so wrong.

And why did it feel like when Sanji's hand clenched over his own heart, that Zoro's heart was the one being grabbed? Why is it when he saw Sanji's tears did he feel like he was bleeding himself?

He eventually drifted off to sleep again, the words _It's all your fault_ still echoing in his mind.

ZOSAN

Zoro wasn't sure what time it was, but he woke up when the door opened. He hadn't really been sleeping very well, tossing and turning all morning, unable to get comfortable with the heavy feeling of guilt sitting on his chest. He wasn't sure if he wanted to look in the doorway and see the shitty cook, because as of now he had no words for the man.

"Zoro?" said a voice, and that's when the swordsman realized that it wasn't the Sanji who had come in. He opened his eyes and met the solemn face of his captain, who was hovering uncomfortably close over Zoro's face. Zoro backed up a bit in alarm.

"Luffy," he gasped, "you scared me."

Luffy didn't chuckle at this like he normally would, and he just sat down at the edge of Zoro's feet on the couch. "You hurt Sanji," the young man said. He looked straight into Zoro's eyes as he said it, as if to drive the point home. The swordsman couldn't meet the intensity of that gaze, and he glanced away, ashamed.

"I know."

"He said he wants to stay at our place for a bit," Luffy said, looking away now. "He sent me here to look after you, gave me the code to the fridge," at this, Luffy did actually manage a smile. "He said you could have the bed, too."

Zoro felt as if the knife in his gut had twisted in even deeper. He didn't want the bed or the code to the fridge, at least not this way. Such trivialities like comfort or booze or food all seemed silly when he knew he had hurt Sanji beyond repair. Luffy seemed to understand that the swordsman wasn't compelled to speak at all right now, and he just patted Zoro's feet lightly and got up. "Zoro needs booze," he said, as if it were the simplest solution in the world. "Normally I'd say you need meat," he glanced at the morose man on the couch. "But Sabo told me that you need booze."

"Well thank god for Sabo, whoever he is," Zoro muttered, watching as Luffy punched the code into the fridge and fished out what looked like a hefty bottle of rum. The raven-haired captain looked up back at Zoro in mild surprise.

"You don't remember Sabo, pirate Zoro?" Luffy asked. Zoro nearly laughed - of course Luffy would believe wholeheartedly that Zoro was a pirate just because Zoro had said so. It was nice to know his captain was still on his side.

Zoro grunted a negative and joined Luffy, fetching two tumblers from above the sink and pouring fishing some ice from the fridge, before pouring the rum over the rocks. Then he gave a sour glance at the cups and pushed them both toward Luffy, sitting down on the barstool and drinking from the bottle instead.

Luffy chuckled at this. "Well, Sabo's my oniisan."

"I thought Ace was your oniisan," Zoro said.

"Sabo, too," Luffy insisted, sipping on the rum. He made a face a pushed it away. "Bleh, I don't know why you like this stuff so much. It's not tasty like meat."

Zoro smiled at his captain endearingly. "Whatever," he sighed, swirling the rum in the bottle before taking another swig. "So...how do I fix this?"

Luffy shrugged. "You sure messed up big this time. I've never seen Sanji cry so much."

Again, the burning in Zoro's stomach could do nothing against the cold grip on his heart. How come no mortal wound could make the man cry, no amount of dejection from the girls, no amount of loss, but the moment Zoro said some unkind words the man was reduced to a soul-ripping state of pain?

"Well what do I usually do?" Zoro asked. "It's sounds like I've fucked up before."

Luffy scratched his head and his face turned red as he tried thinking. Zoro was about to stop him before the rubber man's (although he supposed this Luffy wasn't rubber) face turned back to a normal color and he held up his finger to signify his mental success. "You guys have a big screaming fight, and then you beat each other up...and then you run away from everybody and beat each other up in private!"

Zoro took another heavy drink from the rum bottle. He was beginning to feel a comfortable buzzing in the back of his brain. "Well that was entirely useless, Luffy, thanks."

His captain chuckled. "Shishishi, you're welcome, Zoro."

The swordsman went to take another drink from the bottle but Luffy's hand stopped him and peeled the neck of the glass jug from the man's iron grip. It appeared that although he lacked the power of the Devil Fruit, Luffy was no less strong in this world. "No more booze," Luffy said. "We're going out in a couple hours to the bar, Ace says, and you are coming with."

Zoro relented to his captain's orders. "In a couple hours?" he looked out the window, and realized that the sunlight was beginning to fade from behind the curtains that he never drew back. "I slept all day, didn't I?"

Luffy nodded vigorously in response. "So you are coming out with me and Sabo and Ace..." he then bit in bottom lip as if concerned about something. "And maybe you should stretch a bit before they come to pick you up."

What? Zoro looked up, his eyes betraying his confusion. Luffy was looking determinedly at his feet, rocking back and forth on his barstool. "Stretch, Luffy? Why?"

"Well..." Luffy gave Zoro a shy smirk. "Ace isn't very happy that you hurt Sanji so bad. Neither am I," he admitted, "but I know you didn't mean to. But...er...you know how Ace is. He doesn't care if it's on purpose or not. He said he may have to teach you a lesson."

Zoro's left eye twitched. "A lesson?" he asked meekly.

"Yeah," Luffy chimed. "So if you stretch, you may be able to run for a bit longer and then by the time Ace catches you, he'll be too tired to beat you up for long."

The swordsman allowed his head to fall heavily on to the countertop. He groaned heavily, replaying his memory of Ace toppling five ships with one fire fist. At least there was no Mera Mera no Mi in this alternate universe, or he'd have to run and pick up some burn cream as well.

"So." Luffy patted his knees, his eyes shining in excitement. "Tell me about being a pirate! I heard that I'm the Captain!" He pressed down on his straw hat, pulling the edges over his head. "Do I still have my hat? What's our ship like? Oh, oh, and Chopper said I'm made out of rubber! How cool is that?"

Thus, it was with great reluctance that Zoro began to relate and relive his pirate tales with the young man he had shared them all with, and he was slightly heartened by the looks of interest and amazement in Luffy's eyes, despite the fact that he was a rather terse and boring storyteller. Many of the interesting things Luffy heard were due to the questions that he asked Zoro, but he didn't seem to mind.

It if wasn't for the blooming bouquet sitting on the counter a few feet from Zoro, he would have forgotten the nightmare of this morning entirely. Instead, he couldn't help but feel the occasional sting in his heart.

All in all, he knew it was odd. He knew he shouldn't care so much for what the cook thought of him, and he certainly shouldn't care when the cook seemed to be overreacting so much, if he looked at it logically. But like his dream, he couldn't help but feel like he had mortally wounded the blond man who always took care of him at sea, and now he was unable to put the man's broken heart back together again.

_A/N: Read and review! I love hearing from you guys and all your ideas. I know there wasn't much action in this chapter, but that's because there is so much coming up! I just can't wait to get to the plot points I have planned out, but I want to get in a good feel for how the characters are struggling with this, too. _

_Oh, and if you are wondering what Zoro is saving money for... well, this Zoro doesn't know yet, but you should be wondering! Mwahahahhaha evil laughter_


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. I don't live in Raftel, New World - I live in New Jersey, America. Although comparing the populations, I think I'd rather put up with the pirates in the New World than see Snooki at the bar again, thank you very much.**

Challenge still fresh in his blood, Zoro went to the town the next morning with a plan and determination. It was a large and sprawling town with different boroughs and sectors, and it wasn't long until Zoro was able to pick up a newspaper and find the hefty packet of inserts that were wanted posters of local pirates. He sat outside the shop perusing them as people passed him by mindlessly.

It was typical that the first and most expensive poster he came across was his captain's, a sum of three hundred million beli, however much that was in the US Dollars exchange rate, followed by the posters of the rest of his crew. Brook's was not among them, and for a second Zoro thought that Sanji's picture was lacking as well until he came across the dreadful drawing plastered above the words "Blackleg Sanji." Upon seeing it, Zoro let out such a loud and unrestrained bark of laughter that people did actually turn and take notice of him, and he decided to move a bit farther down the street to avoid a chance of someone recognizing him.

After having studied all the posters, Zoro began to wander town. It was such a large port town that he sincerely doubted his crew were the only wanted men here. And wasn't he called Pirate Hunter Zoro?

The issue was, Zoro needed money. Of course, Nami provided him with the option of borrowing money and leaving him in insane and unforgivable debt, but rather than risk any side effects of that, he decided he would try his hand at making his own money first. It wasn't something that he could do often, lest he become noticed and drag attention to the crew, but Zoro was assured that there was no reason a pirate couldn't hunt some bounty in his off time, too.

It was with this thought in mind that Zoro stumbled upon a pack of rowdy pirates eating an a pub in the early hours, mainly nursing hangovers. It felt dirty and below him, but the captain of the men, who seemed a bit more aware of his surroundings, was worth a measly five million beli. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough for Zoro's purpose. After apologizing to the bartender and the young waitress who worked there, Zoro cut down the captain and enough men to discourage the rest from following him, and then slung the unconscious man over his shoulder, heading to the nearest marine outpost.

By now, it was nearly noon, and Zoro stood in the shadows of a tall building with the man slung over his shoulder, watching passersby. Here, again, was where he needed to make the proper observances and the right choice. He eyed a middle age man for a while, but then confirmed that the man appeared to have a family from his shopping materials, and Zoro decided that he'd rather not risk anything of that nature. He also took his time dismissing the idea of a rather young man who seemed just a tad bit too cocky for his muscle size, simply because he didn't want to have to deal with the brat's bravado.

Eventually, he saw the right man, and without leaving the shadows, Zoro grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in close next to him. It was a man in his early twenties, rather fit but likewise rather meek. Most importantly, the man had a sword strapped to his side, although it was clear to Zoro that the blade was an unwelcome gift from somebody and had never actually been used for its purpose.

"I have a proposition," Zoro whispered into the man's ear. "Will you stay and listen?"

Perhaps the man Zoro had chosen was too meek, for it was with shaking knees and a sweaty brow that he nodded furiously. Of course, it didn't help that the expression on the swordsman's face was akin to that of a murderous demon, but Zoro was, as always, unaware of his threatening demeanor.

"This pirate is worth 5 million beli. I want you to go into that marine outpost right there -" he gestured with his side unburdened by the weight of the heavy pirate. "- and turn in this guy I cut down, collect his bounty."

He settled his hands on the hilts of his katanas now, and met the man's eyes so that was his message was clear. "There is only one entrance and exit to that building, so when you come out, I will know. You will come to me and we'll split the money fifty-fifty." Zoro tapped the hilts once, just the lightest of warnings. "You try anything smart, and I will just cut you down and take the money. Got it?"

The man didn't respond. He seemed to be holding on to the wall to stay up. Then, he mustered enough courage to shake his head furiously, which Zoro misinterpreted as a "no" to the entire proposition.

"Look," he said, a bit softer. "You'll make 2 and a half million beli for carrying this man twenty yards, and you can brag about taking him down as much as you want, I don't care. That's got to do something for you, right?"

"No!" The man cried out, hands shaking as he reached for the pirate on Zoro's shoulder. "No, no... by no I mean yes. I mean yes, I'll do it."

Zoro paused before handing the bounty head over, not because the pirate was truly that heavy, but because he doubted the young man, in his feeble emotional condition, would be able to handle carrying him. But figuring he had no other choice besides looking for another candidate, Zoro lifted the pirate up and draped him over his new ally's shoulder, before giving the man a gentle, and he hoped, encouraging shove toward the towering marine building.

At the shove, the man stumbled and nearly fell, but did move forward, or rather scurried forward, glancing furtively behind him all the while. Before he had made it ten feet, he turned to Zoro and said, "D-d-do you think they'll b-b-believe me, though?"

Zoro's patience was at an end. He pulled out Wado Ichimonji just enough to show a glint of steel that shimmered in the sunlight. "Go!" he growled, and the man went, running faster with a two hundred pound man over his shoulder than Zoro would have thought possible of such a soft character. Then again, adrenaline makes people do amazing things.

It was twenty tense minutes later when Zoro saw the same man walking out of the Marine building, sans bounty head pirate. For a second, he actually thought the man was going to try to make a run for it, because he didn't head straight over to Zoro, but rather meandered down the street in his general direction as if he had nothing better to do. But once he reached the block Zoro was on, he turned and made a beeline straight for him.

It appeared that the Marines had said something to the man to brighten up his ego, because he smiled smugly at Zoro, his hands in his pockets, swaying from side to side. As the swordsman glared down at him impatiently, he remained unaffected and oblivious. But he did reach into his pocket and pulled out a rather generous wad of cash.

"Thanks man," he said, "you wouldn't believe what they said. Thought I was strong and everything, wanted to offer me a job..." He shrugged. "Not that I'd ever sign up for marine duty, that's crazy -" Zoro cut off his rambling, though, by snatching the bills from his outstretched hand, to which the man protested with a small, a rather broken sounding, "hey!"

Zoro counted through the bills swiftly. All five million were there. "I thought you were gonna split it fifty-fifty with me!" the man protested. Zoro looked at him for a second and considered just knocking him out and taking all the money, but he sighed in defeat. A promise was a promise, and Zoro was not about to be known as a man who went back on his promises, even to a pathetic poser like this. He split the bills and shoved the half into the man's greedy, yet still sweaty, palms.

"Take it and go," Zoro ordered. "Don't tell anybody or I'll kill you." He added the most deadly, downcast glare he could muster to close the conversation, and it seemed to work, because the man's newly found confidence evaporated as he turned swifter than a ballerina and headed for the hills, disregarding all the confused pedestrians in the street.

It was now time for Zoro to execute the second part of his plan, and that was using his new found money for..._something_ for Sanji. He wandering aimlessly in and out of different stores, and became frustrated with himself when he spent over an hour looking at katanas in a smith shop, which was clearly an entirely selfless window shopping adventure, since Sanji never had a lick of interest in swords and most likely never would.

He thought his mission was at an end when he spotted a flower shop where they would fix up a bouquet to your specifications. Zoro often sent Sanji flowers every once and a while just to brighten up the kitchen and make Sanji smile, and the cook always seemed to love them, changing the water and trimming the stems with the utmost care. But before he even reached the shop, he skidded to a halt. Giving another man flowers was gay, wasn't it?

Zoro scoffed, of course it was gay, _he was gay_. But gay in the way that Sanji would be more horrified than pleased? Definitely. Flowers were way to strong for this point in the relationship.

So it wasn't too much later that he found himself going in circles around a chef supply store. Knives, gadgets, pots, pans, skillets, peelers and squeezers and juicers... it was enough to make his head spin, despite the fact that the place was just big enough for him to get lost in. To give credit to the store, an employee had guts enough to approach him and try to help.

"So you are interested in our knives, sir?" Zoro looked up at the young woman, whose hands were clasped behind her back and seemed completely unaffected by the uncouth man with three pieces of deadly steel strapped to his hip nearest her. He nodded slowly, turning his attention back to the elegant display of their knife collections.

"Might I suggest this new state-of-the-art chef knife? The stainless hardly ever needs to be sharpened, and also this set of paring knives -"

"No," Zoro said, waving his hand. "He's not a pear, he's a chef. I need a chef knife."

The woman paused, her hand wavering as she was pointed to the _pear knives_ or whatever they were. "Excuse me?" she asked slowly. Then she took a second and composed herself. "I think you misunderstood me," she explained. "Paring knives are for _paring_, not for pears, like the fruit."

Now Zoro was very confused. "But what if he is a fruit? Does it make a difference?"

The woman grabbed another knife from the display, enthusiastically revealed it to her client. "No, no, for cutting fruit you would use a knife such as this -"

"Cutting fruit?" Zoro's hand touched his blade. "I don't want to cut him just because he's a fruit!"

The saleswoman set down the knives she was showing Zoro and clasped her hands behind her back again. "Perhaps, sir, you should let your friend buy his own knives."

Zoro left that store in a huff.

Finally, a shabby little shop caught Zoro's eye. The wooden sign on the outside was nearly illegible, but Zoro could discern the purpose of the place from the displays in the window. Suits. Tuxedos. It appeared to be a private tailor in place of a the mainstream stores that the had further up town that Zoro harkened to department stores and name brands from New York. All of the sudden, it seemed perfect. After all, the suit Sanji was wearing yesterday was torn all down the back as well his dress shirt, and, of course, thoroughly stained with blood. Zoro knew from experience that blood stains and tears of that nature were most likely behind repair, due to all the times that he had tried to patch up a favorite shirt of his or get a stain from jeans after running a job.

Zoro went inside, a tiny bell tinkling to alert the shop owner to his presence. An old man with wiry white hair poked his head from behind the counter. He swiftly ducked back under the wooden surface again. "Go elsewhere," he insisted, "I'm not darning your socks or putting patches in your skivvies."

"It's not for me," Zoro said, looking around at the shop. Although the outside appeared shabby, and the lighting wasn't too much better inside, he could tell from the array of jackets and waistcoats on display that the owner of the store was very skilled and very classic. Although he hated to admit it, over the years Sanji had drilled into his head how the stitching on the jacket makes all the difference, and he could tell that this difference was made here, as sure as there was a difference between Brioni and Macy's.

The old man's head popped back over the counter. He stood up fully this time, rearranging the measuring tape around his shoulders. "Oh?" he asked. "But I'll need measurements, I can't just make a suit for anybody."

Zoro sighed. Did he really look that stupid? Then again, he remembered the first time he tried to buy clothes for Sanji and was met with that exact dilemma, but that was a secret best kept between Men's Warehouse and him. By now, Zoro had completed memorized the cook's inseam, arm length, and all the other ridiculous measurements these upscale bastards demanded. "I know all his measurements," he told the old man. "Just ask him and I'll tell you. But what I want to talk about is what I need."

The man fiddled with a needle and a bit of string. "What do you need?"

"A three piece suit," Zoro responded. "As for the waistcoat, I'll need to look at your selection or blue and yellow fabrics. With the set, I'd like the traditional white dress shirt and then also I'll pick a set of fabrics for another one I want. I want to see your selection of gold buttons for the jacket. Even more importantly, I want you to use your best materials you have in stock." He approached the desk and set a firm hand on the counter, stepping forward into the tailor's territory. "I want this to be the best damn suit you've ever made, you hear me?"

Despite Zoro's efforts, the tailor was not intimidated at all. Although he had more wrinkles than muscle, he seemed to be made of the complete opposite components than the young man he had manipulated this morning. "When do you want this by?" the tailor inquired.

Zoro knew that they had a week for the log pose to set on the island, but he just couldn't imagine waiting an entire week to give this to Sanji. "Three days," he said, knowing it was ludicrous.

The tailor smirked, pulled out a pad of paper and a yellow pencil. "Give me two," he said. "Now recite those measurements, and they better be exact or I'll skin you alive, boy."

It was a half hour later and Zoro was going through swatches of blue fabric, having already picked out a pale custard yellow for the waistcoat and the complimentary gold buttons, not without the help of the tailor's good eyes for fashion. But now he needed to pick out the proper blue to replace Sanji's ruined shirt. He tapped one lightly. "I'll suppose this'll have to do," he told the tailor. "If it was just a shade darker it would match his eyes."

The tailor looked up from his sketching curiously, and then dragged the swab across the table. "i can dye it a shade darker," he said. "Come in tomorrow and check to see if I've got it right, and then we'll go from there."

"Good," Zoro nodded. "Now there's just the matter of price."

The tailor brought out an abacus and started jotting down notes. "Well, let's see, a three-piece suit, these buttons, including the dress shirt and the dying on that, and also the press for time..." he squinted at Zoro. "There's just one more question I need to ask to factor the price correctly. Is it an anniversary, a birthday, or did you fuck up big time?"

The swordsman pressed his lips together to keep from cursing at the man. Who was he to make such assumptions? But after all the work he had done picking out these damned color and buttons, he didn't want to repeat it at another, less skilled tailor's shop. "What makes you think it's that kind of gift?" he asked.

Pointing to the blue swab of fabric that was still on the counter, the tailor said, "You have the man's measurements ingrained in your head and you know the exact color of his eyes. I may be old, but I'm not stupid."

Zoro shifted uncomfortably. "I did fuck up, but it's more like a...getting him to see... ugh, why do you need to know? It has nothing to do with the suit!"

The tailor held up a finger. "Actually, it had everything to do with it. So you're saying he doesn't know that you love him, does he?" He hummed to himself, glancing down at the measurements. "Blue eyes, blond hair I'm guessing from the yellow you picked out, and these measurements? Good luck, kid, this man could get whoever he wanted."

This was too much for Zoro. He growled and grabbed the man by the front of his custom, crisp white shirt. "What are you implying, old man?"

He did not succeed in intimidating him, though, and in fact, the old man laughed dryly. "Just that I'm going to have to put a special something into my work, that's all. I just needed to know what it was for to do a proper job." He carefully pried Zoro's fingers from his outfit, and the swordsman relented, taking a step back. "It'll be half a million beli, then. Five hundred thousand."

Zoro had no idea if the man was trying to rip him off or not, but at this point, he couldn't care less. "Fine." He took the wad of bills from his pocket. "A quarter today, a quarter tomorrow when I see the blue shirt, and the rest when it's finished."

The tailor stuck out his hand. Zoro shook it. "See you tomorrow," he said with the perfect salesman smile, which the swordsman did not return as he turned and swiftly made his way out the shop, the bell tinkling behind him. The sunlight was so bright compared to the dimness of the shop that it took a second for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he saw a face peering right back up at him.

"What were you doing in a tailor shop, Zoro?" It was the witch.

"Got lost," he said gruffly, making to shove past her. He noticed that she was carrying shopping bags in one hand and with the other was holding Luffy back by the scruff of his vest. Luffy was pulling at her playfully, whining about food and drooling at the smells of a nearby pub.

As he moved past the pair, he suddenly felt a weight lift in his pocket. Turning back swiftly, he saw Nami holding all the bills he had left in her hand, flipping through them with a smile on her face. "Well, well, well," she said, "What's this here?"

"I need that money, witch," he said, reaching for it. She pulled her hands away and evaded his grasp.

"What for?" she teased. "You still owe me so much debt!"

He growled. "I'll pay you after! I just need that money for now."

The girl looked at the money, then Zoro's face, and her eyes drifted to the tailor's shop. When her gaze turned back to Zoro she had a dangerous glint in her eyes. She handed the cash back over, though. "Fine," she said. "I guess you'll need it when you get back to wherever you came from. I don't want you sleeping in the street."

Zoro snatched the money back. "That's stupid," he said. "I can't use beli in New York. And besides, I have a nicer flat than you do that costs more than your bounty a month on 84th street, thanks!"

Luffy stopped pulling at Nami's arm and turned around. "Where do I live Zoro?" he asked, his eyes shining with all the curiosity of a child.

"Same building," Zoro answered. "Just a floor below us."

Nami was rolling her shoulder, trying to get the kinks out of it from holding on to a rubber man for so long. "Huh," she said, "how does Luffy and his brothers afford that? Is their dojo that successful?"

Zoro paused. That was something he never considered before, but the three brothers never seemed to lack for money. "Well, no," he answered. "But I know they do a lot of odd jobs on the side..." He scratched his head, trying to remember snippets of conversation from bar nights. "Ace does things for some old man named Whitebeard, and Luffy apparently does jobs in the same business..." He fumbled around with his thoughts but was unable to come up with an answer. "I really don't know what they do. though."

"Whitebeard?" Nami asked. "He's a legendary pirate here, one of the Four Emperor's of the New World. I couldn't imagine him doing anything else..."

These things that had never occurred to Zoro before suddenly flooded his mind. It was true that the brothers made lots of money off their side endeavors, and Nami did always complain about how to took some careful accounting to take care of it, so he assumed it was some sort of under the table deal. He thought about how the brothers were always on the prowl in the city at the late hours of the night, and he recalled that Ace did often carry around a handgun without an explanation nor a gun license. He froze and looked down at the Luffy that was standing right in front of him now, a pirate with a wide grin across his face.

"You!" He pointed at Luffy. "You guys are criminals and you've been hiding it from me all this time!"

"Shishishishi," Luffy laughed. "Probably!"

Nami laughed along with the rubber man. "Wow, Zoro, you really are clueless. I mean, honestly?" She knocked the captain upside the head. "Him, living within the law? I couldn't imagine it for a day."

Zoro rubbed his eyes. It all made so much more sense now, he can't believe he let it pass before him unnoticed. And what was even more frustrating was the fact that he was one hundred percent sure that Sanji knew. The cook was always having private, hushed conversations with the brothers, and occasionally would leave to pick them up from odd places at all hours of the night. With Sanji being as observant as he was already, on top of these hints, there was no way that he hadn't known. Zoro had been consorting with criminals for years and had never even realized.

"If -" Zoro started. "No, when I get back, I'm gonna wring your non-rubber neck, Luffy!"

Luffy just chuckled some more and then made to tug on Zoro's arm. "Fine, fine, but first, food!" He pointed at the pub down the street.

Nami flashed Zoro another one of her devious smiles. "You can handle him from here, right, Zoro? And I'm sure you can afford to feed our hungry captain."

Unfortunately for Zoro, he never got a chance to respond, because once Luffy heard he was let loose from Nami's command, he yelled "Yosh!" in victory and took off, leaving a cloud of dust behind his sandals before crashing bodily into the pub's doors, neatly knocking it off its hinges. Resigned to his fate, Zoro followed behind, hands in his pockets, mind reeling in circles.

The notion of Luffy and Ace and perhaps even Sabo being criminals was only so aggravating due to the fact that his occupation was involved in taking down criminals. It really had nothing to do with moral measures, since he was sure his friends weren't involved in human trade or other completely unethical ordeals. The issue was that Zoro could have gotten a call anytime from Smoker telling him to take out one of his best friends, and then how would he explain that to his employer?

Then again, Zoro frowned as he entered the pub and found Luffy already gorging himself, he was _apparently _retired. At least, that was what he had told his friends and even Sanji. But Sanji and him had a dream, and Zoro was not willing to sacrifice Sanji's other desires so they could save up enough money to make this dream happen. It was worth it to take on a couple more jobs, wasn't it? Wouldn't Sanji be grateful in the end when they could achieve what they wanted?

He recalled the vision of Sanji lying on the cot last night, bleeding through his white bandages, and realized that perhaps that was the reason Sanji always called him a thousand times when he went overseas to do a job, why Sanji nagged him incessantly, saying that Zoro didn't need to work, that he would pay for everything, and to please be careful. Zoro always knew the cook was worried about him, but he was finally beginning to understand why. He wouldn't want Sanji to feel that heart-clenching pain of seeing his loved one laid up and injured, and he wouldn't want to die and leave Sanji alone in the world.

But Zoro pushed this irritating guilt aside. It was a couple more jobs and they'd have all the money they'd need for what they wanted, and Zoro was sure he wouldn't get hurt. It was just a matter of being careful once he got back home.

He looked around the pub at all the rotten, toothless pirates he was surrounded by and called the barman for a pint of ale. When he got home? Or if?

ZOSAN

Meanwhile, a certain group of bounty hunters were gathered in a rather run-down shack close to the port. They were still nursing their wounds, but one, the one that the blond cook had broken the jaw of, was not showing any discomfort in his pain. He was discussing what may be the best business deal of his life with a large man sitting across from him.

"Are you sure?" the large man he was talking to asked, holding a poster in front of his face. "It doesn't seem so."

The bounty hunter pushed the poster aside. "No, the picture looks nothing like him. I'm telling you, thin, blonde, toned, and blue eyes. He's just what you've been looking for."

The man tapped his chin and scraped a yellow nail down the wiry hairs of his beard. "And what makes you think he...swings that way, if you catch my drift?"

Pulling out another poster, the bounty hunter pointed at it, shoving it across the table. "He was with this man when they were fighting. They thought I was unconscious, but they were acting rather intimate after they knocked me down. And they both tried to protect each other. Besides," the hunter leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his neck and swinging his hips forward lewdly, "I can tell 'em when I see 'em."

His business partner drank heavily from the mug of ale in front of him, a few foamy droplets dripped down his beard. "He won't be easy to catch. That's a high bounty on him. And your face looks fucked up, bro. You sure we can nab him?"

The hunter nodded. "I wasn't really trying that hard, anyway," he bluffed, "I was scouting for you. Besides, I got him good in the back, so he's already wounded. Next time he's wandering alone, we just gotta ambush him good." He paused, and then took his own drink from his glass, most of which missed his mouth seeing as he couldn't move his jaw properly. "So are you in or out, Lee?"

The toweringly tall man named Lee nodded. "It just seems too good to be true. I get a lot of private requests for delicate matters, you know, because some...tastes...aren't best exposed in the public of the auction house." He smirked at his partner, who nodded in understanding. "But when I got an ask for a lean, tall, blue-eyed blond, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to score one."

Lee gestured to one of his men, who jumped at the raising of his hand. "Call Saint Roswald," he ordered. "Let them know we find a nice little toy for him, and we just need some time to snatch him and wear him down in submission."

His subordinate began to scurry off to the telephone, and then Lee grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. "Tell him he can cook, too," he grinned, showing a mouth full of more metal than teeth. "For when the perverted old man wears blondie's ass down to bone."

The subordinate and the hunter both laughed at the crude joke and set off to their mission. A Celestial Dragon would certainly pay more than his weight in gold to see an attractive young man on his bedspread by next month, especially with the promise that it would all be kept very hush-hush.

_A/N: Read and review, and sorry there's no Zoro with Sanji in this chapter, but I had to cover some important plot points. Hope you like. Oh, and Lee isn't canon, I hope that's not a big deal._


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Just like Luffy borrows the straw heart, I'm just borrowing these characters for a while. So no, I don't own One Piece.**

**Warning: This chapter contains drug use. **

Despite outward appearances, bars in New York City weren't really much cleaner than bars in the Grand Line. In fact, they may have even been dirtier, but Zoro could hardly tell, because the place they were at had all the lights off and just illuminated the floor with odd black lights. It made everything off-colored and disturbing. The dance floor was a disgusting mass of writhing bodies, and it became rather clear to Zoro after only a couple of drinks in that the people here possessed very little shame when it came to shoving a tongue down a stranger's throat.

Opting out of the dance floor, which he would've done even if it didn't look like a sexual assault pit, Zoro sat with Sabo, who he had just met for the first time, although Sabo apparently knew him rather well. Ace and Luffy were both out on the dance floor, although from what Zoro could see of Luffy, he had fended off any female advances with his ridiculous and rather dangerous dance moves. Ace, on the other hand, may have been enjoying himself somewhere, but Zoro couldn't spot him in the darkness.

Earlier, Zoro had not stretched in preparation for Ace's wrath, but it turned out he didn't need to. The man continued with polite greetings, introducing his foster brother Sabo, and motivating them for a night out at the club while calling a cab to pick them up. It wasn't until they were going downstairs and Luffy and Sabo had already gotten into the cab that Ace pulled Zoro aside in the lobby.

"Hey, Zoro," he said. There was nothing reprimanding in his glare, but instead, it was disappointed. The swordsman felt the sting of it clearly. He had never had a big brother or a father or mother, but he still understood the grave meaning behind _I'm disappointed in you_.

"I know, Ace," Zoro answered. He really didn't want to have this conversation.

"I know you know but you need to hear it," Ace insisted. "I understand that you have a lot going on with your health, and honestly, I'm sure your confused and lost most of the time right now, I'm amazed your keeping up." He glanced at the cab where Luffy was waving at them enthusiastically. "But even so, I know you are even better than this, and I'm gonna expect more from you. I'm sure Sanji said some pretty shitty things when you fought, but he never means them. So could you be the bigger man for me, dude? Could you just hear him out?"

Ace shook Zoro's shoulder lightly as if to make sure he was still listening, which Zoro was sure was a habit he had picked up from having Luffy as a little brother. "We both know Sanji is strong, Zoro, and so are you..." he pursed his lips. "How do I say this? You guys are both really strong, but you sort of lean on each other. So right now Sanji doesn't really know what to do, get me?"

Zoro brushed the older man aside at the time and promised that he would do as Ace requested of him, but the entire cab ride he couldn't help but run over what the man had said in his head. Although the cook and him had some joint attacks that worked rather well, and although they were the two men who often stood at the side of their captain in battle, he never realized how much they depended on each other, how much they moved around each other like coordinated satellites. It was a bit disconcerting to think that perhaps he had knocked Sanji off his course.

But now Zoro was at the club, and between the buzz of alcohol swimming steadily between his ears and the throbbing of the speakers in the noises they called music, Zoro could not be bothered to concentrate on thoughts of the cook or anything else too intricate for that matter. He instead sat silently with Sabo, which the other man appeared to be delighted to do with him.

Sabo was an interesting character, and he couldn't help but wonder if the man actually existed where he came from, and Luffy was just too carefree to mention him. It was certainly a possibility, but that one time Luffy had said Ace was his _only_ big brother had really made him wonder if Sabo was just a figment of this world or not. And if so, was this what he was sent here to change?

He tried not to think it desperately, because the man seemed so likable. He had short, dirty blond hair and a crooked smile. When Ace and Luffy fought, he remained calm and separated the two, and he was under the strong impression that his youngest brother was harmless and allowed him to take off in whichever direction he pleased. In short, he was the opposite of Ace, who kept his eyes on Luffy like a hawk.

Now the man across from Zoro, wearing an obnoxiously worn blue trench coat, was waving to somebody across the room. Zoro followed his train of vision to see who he was looking at, but it was a girl the swordsman didn't recognize. Sabo turned to him to explain, "Worked on the last campaign with her." He smiled and waved, but he was muttering in Zoro's ear, "She's pretty, but it's all fake, plastic surgery. Also, she's fucking psycho. If she asks, I'm married with a kid now, got it?"

The woman had finally made their way over to their secluded table and stood there, the stem of a martini glass cradled in her fingertips. She was wearing hardly much of anything, and had long black hair and freckles. Whatever surgery she had done, it must have been rather good, because Zoro could hardly tell from the shapeliness of her body. Then again, it _was_ rather dark in here.

"Sabo!" she said in a sing-song voice. "I'm so happy to see you, how are you?"

"Oh, wonderful, wonderful," Sabo replied. "I'm glad to see you're doing well, El Vida. You look different, am I wrong?"

The woman touched her chest lightly. "Oh, I'm so glad you noticed! I got some new implants...you don't think their too much do you?" She leaned forward, her heavy breasts nearly toppling from her shirt.

Sabo turned and rolled his eyes at Zoro before throwing his smile back on and turning to her. "No, they are wonderful, really," he assured her. He gestured to Zoro. "El Vida, meet my friend Zoro, and Zoro, meet El Vida."

The woman held out her hand and Zoro took it and shook it roughly. She appeared to be a bit taken aback at this motion, but she muttered "Nice to meet you," kindly enough before turning her attention back to the man she had clearly come to see.

"I love the song that just came on, Sabo, don't you?" she hinted.

"It's my wife's favorite," Sabo said. His words had the effect of a dropped bomb. The woman's face went from sweet to sour in less than a second flat. Her eyebrows became angry, dark slashes that shrouded her glaring eyes in shadow.

"Your wife?" she said bitingly.

Sabo nodded, and threw a wink Zoro's way. "Yeah, we just had our little one, her name's..." Sabo paused and looked around desperately. "Margarita! I wish I had pictures to show you, really!"

El Vida didn't seem to buy it. "Your little girl's name is Margarita?" she asked. Sabo nodded furiously, but the gleam of fear was shining in his eyes, and it appeared that this woman could smell fear. She reached down and snatched his wrist.

"I'm sure Margarita and your _wife_ won't mind if you dance to her favorite song, right?" she said, dragging Sabo out of his seat. The man dug his heels into the tiled floor as much as possible, but he was sliding along out of sight into the mass of the writhing bodies as El Vida dragged with the strength of a woman scorned.

Sabo turned back to Zoro and mouthed "help me", but Zoro wasn't about to go up against that woman in a million years, so he just raised his glass to salute the man, who gave him one last terrified look of pleading before he disappeared into the crowd.

With no one else around, Zoro was beginning to fear that he would be stuck in his thoughts. He scanned the dance floor, searching for sight of his friends, but they all seemed to have been engaged elsewhere. Taking his glass and downing the rest of it, the swordsman began to rise to go the bar to fetch another when a steady hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Zoro!" the owner of the hand exclaimed. "Roronoa Zoro, right? It's been such a long time, I'd never recognize you if not for your green hair!"

Zoro was about to grab the hand on his shoulder and use it to fling the body it was attached to toward the ground, but he stopped and decided to glance instead, because the voice was oddly familiar. And surely enough, the man had the same toned skin as his but possessed silver hair, cut a bit longer than Ace's, and a cheeky grin.

"Saga!" Zoro said, flashing his old friend a genuine smile. Although he didn't know his origins of relations with Saga in New York, he recalled that the boy, when he was a boy, was a fellow member of the dojo Zoro lived and trained at, and often had sparred with Zoro during his time there.

"I can't believe it's really you, how are you?" Saga asked.

"Great," Zoro lied. "I was just about to get another drink, join me?"

Saga gently pushed Zoro back into his seat, which the man allowed. "Nonsense, I haven't seen you in forever. It's on me! What were you drinking?"

"Captain Morgan on the rocks," Zoro answered. His old friend nodded and took off to rage his way through the dance floor toward the distant bar. Zoro awaited him with a soft smile on his face. It was nice to see a man who he was, in all honesty, unlikely to ever seen again in his life on the Grand Line.

The man named Saga returned in under five minutes, his smile present but likewise subdued - it may have been a trait they picked up as disciplined swordsmen - holding a filled tumbler in each hand. He placed the one in his left hand carefully in front of Zoro, before sitting down across from him.

Zoro went to drink, but Saga's hand reached out to stop him. "A toast," Saga said, lightly tapping his glass toward Zoro's, the clinking sound lost in the chaotic music. "To old friends."

Tapping their glasses once more, they each tilted their drinks back and downed half of them in one gulp. Zoro placed down his glass and smacked his lips together. "Ah, the bartender must have gotten the wrong thing." Saga raised an eyebrow in question. "It's rum, alright, but mine tastes sort of salty," Zoro explained. Saga just shrugged in response, waving a hand aside to show it was of no great concern.

"So what have you been up to?" he asked.

Zoro paused. He thought about his undercover assassin work, the warning from Smoker, and briefly, Sanji's face as he had left the apartment early that morning. "Ah, this and that," he said. "What about you?"

Saga chuckled. "This and that? You don't change, do you?" He set down his glass, surveying the dance floor for a moment, before turning his attention back to Zoro. "I've been here for...oh, five years now? I work on Wall Street. You know, stock exchange and all that." He made a motion as if shooting himself in the head. "I knew you were still alive, though, Zoro, since I keep up with the swordsmanship tournaments. International titles and everything, Koshiro-sensei would be so proud!"

International titles? Zoro scowled slightly. He hadn't seen any trophies around the apartment. Then he remembered how much he hated trophies. That probably explained it.

"Well, how about you, Saga?" Zoro pressed. He realized his speech was slightly slurred, and decided that this would be his last drink for the night. "You haven't gotten rusty, have you?"

Saga reached with his left arm to tightly clasp his right. "Afraid so, old friend. I got into a car accident three years back, and while the surgeon was able to help me regain use of my left arm, the nerve damage is still rather severe." His face brightened slightly, as he added, "But I still practice, I'm just not as good as you are, I'm sure."

If he had been Chopper, Zoro would have squirmed in his seat. Instead he grumbled, "Shut the fuck up," and finished off his drink.

"Want another?" Saga asked.

Zoro shook his head. "Nah, my head is starting to feel odd, I'm going to lay off them for a while." And it was oddly true. Zoro was aware that he had quite a couple of drinks, but as far as he knew he could still drink anybody alive under a table and still bust himself out of a steel prison. But at the moment, he found that the entire world just seemed far too unstable for comfort. The throbbing of the music didn't seem obnoxious anymore, but rather enticing, and he found that he was swaying to the beat in spite of himself.

"Fair enough," Saga said. "But it looks like you want to dance. Care to join me?" The silver haired man stood and offered Zoro his hand. Zoro wanted to say _no_ at first, because he wouldn't be caught dead dancing, but the dance floor appeared to be exciting for a change. Perhaps it was just this song.

"Okay," he conceded. "But only for this song."

It was not only for one song. Zoro did not know how long he was out there, but it felt like both one second and an eternity all at once. His heart was pounding, his eyes unable to focus, and he was overcome with the desire to touch everything and everyone around him. He found himself oddly close to Saga at first, and then when delighted by the electricity of every touch, began to inch closer and closer together, gently gyrating to the rhythm. The lights that flashed above blinded him and he began to keep his eyes closed for longer and longer interims. He felt as if there were no reason to see, only to feel, feel, everything around him.

The instinct that was half-smothered and bleeding in the back of his brain was hoarsely crying out over and over again that something was wrong, that there was no reason why Zoro should feel like this, and why was he letting all these people put his hands all over him anyway, why was he dancing, for god's sake?

But the lust for more of this feeling won over, and soon the warning at the edges of his mind completely evaporated, ground to dust by the steady thrusting of his hips in dance. It wasn't too long after this that he felt the cool, sleek brush of a tongue against his shoulder, then his neck, then up his chin. Gasping for air like a grounded fish, Zoro opened his mouth a stranger lips crashed into his own, plunging in deep without abandon.

He cracked his eyes open for a moment to see that the lips he was pressed up against belonged to Saga. Vaguely, he wondered why he was kissing somebody, why he was kissing a man, why he was kissing Saga. But then the silver haired swordsman gently nipped on his bottom lip and all these thoughts were forgotten again.

Now, when he thrust his hips forward to the pounding of the stereos, they were met with the delicious friction of another set of hips, and he found his entire body moving faster and faster, as if going for a climax despite the public atmosphere and layers of clothing. He was rubbing up against the other man much like a cat would rub against their owners leg - needy, restless, and with the constant, unable to be sated desire to feel, feel, feel, and touch, touch, touch.

The lips broke apart from Zoro's own and nibbled none too gently at his ear. "Let's get some air," Saga whispered. "Follow me."

Zoro could not find it within him to protest, and let himself be led by the hand through the crowd, groping hands occasionally missing their partners and touching his own chest, his ass, his arms. When they broke from the pit, Zoro felt suddenly cold and starved, and he found himself pressing Saga to go faster, since Saga was the only other human being that he could touch and be touched by in this open space.

Saga chuckled, "Impatient, aren't we?" He tugged the swordsman to a side door and opened it to the fresh evening. Although it was a warm spring night, the chill air stung on Zoro's sweaty skin. He was able to discern that they were in an alleyway, alongside a green and rather pungent dumpster, but he couldn't find the strength of will within him to care.

With a swift push that even in his inebriated state, Zoro could have fought against if he desired, he found himself up against the brick wall of the opposite building in the alley, his body flush with Saga's own. The silver haired man wasted no time in crashing down upon Zoro again, and Zoro found himself rising up to meet the angry tide of kisses, biting and thrusting his tongue back inside the other's mouth, his hands frantically sliding up and down his partner's back.

Saga's hands moved without such panic, inching slowly down Zoro's tense and toned abs, hooking his fingers in the man's belt, and then finally palming the pirate hunter's groin, massaging it roughly with his long, trained fingers. Zoro could not help but moan, and although they were in a dingy alleyway, he felt unrestrained to do so, as if they were the only two human beings in the world.

Before the moan could fully escape his lips, Saga's mouth had caught his own again and strangled out more and more needy gaps and cries. It was demeaning, it was completely alien to Zoro, and something flared up once more in his mind, saying that this was _wrong_, that he needed to get out, that he needed to shove Saga away.

And he attempted to, pushing with all his might against the man who was occupied in sucking at his neck, but the shove that would have normally sent a heavier man flying could not even shift Saga's feet backward. Saga pushed his hands aside and murmured, "Don't fight it, Zoro," before clamping down on his mouth again.

This was when a voice interrupted their unholy and sinful moment together. There were car horns and drunks and laughing women running up and down the street, causing a ruckus, but this voice, in its clarity and nearness, sent a bullet of rationality running straight through Zoro's head, and he pulled back. Saga apparently felt the same, for although he did not take his hands off Zoro, he did remove his lips, glancing in the direction the voice had come from.

It was a figure at the end of the alley way, slowly sauntering toward them, a plume of smoke following behind its shadow. "I'm really more the type," the voice said, "to rescue a damsel in distress." A cigarette dropped, the scuff of a boot on pavement as it was snuffed out. "But you should know that won't stop me..." the man approached nearer, and stepped into the ring of light they were surrounded by. "From killing the fucking bastard who laid his hands on my husband."

Saga pulled back completely now, leaving Zoro cold and confused. It was Sanji. His face was so contorted in rage that the shadows it cast had caused him to resemble a demon more than a man. His eyebrows were creased and curled tightly, his lips were pursed to a thin line, and his fists were in his pockets. He tapped the pavement soundly with the tip of his shoe. Once, twice, three times. Like a drumroll before the reveal.

"Wh-what are you talking about? Who the hell are you?" Saga insisted. "We're just having a good time, and if you can't see, he's completely consensual!" Nevertheless, he backed further and further away from both Zoro and Sanji, his hands in the air defensively.

Sanji pointed a finger straight in Zoro's face. "Bullshit. He's so drugged I'm surprised he's standing. What the fuck did you give him?'

"Nothing!" Saga said, making his way toward the door slowly, as if avoiding a wild animal. "Nothing at all, he's just been drinking."

In a flash of movement, Sanji had Saga pressed into a brick wall by his hand, crushing his skull into the surface like a pestle in a mortar, Saga's feet hanging feet off the ground, twitching, twitching more than a hanged man's dance.

"What the fuck did you give him?"

Saga spat out blood. "Roofies," he coughed roughly. "Just some roofies."

Sanji lifted his hand and swung Saga bodily toward the other wall, pinning him in the same position. "Fucking roofies?" the cook cursed. "The date rape drug? You motherfucking pervert!"

Zoro watched avidly as Saga hit the ground with bone-snapped force as Sanji threw him down. The cook did not immediately attack the man, but instead lit up a cigarette and paced, one and then twice in front of Zoro. Then, when it appeared he could hold it in no longer, he lunged and flung his leg in the air, set in a completely vertical split, the sole of his shoe gleaming in the musky downtown light.

"Don't," Zoro said weakly.

Sanji did not send his foot down in the killing blow, but he also did not lower it. "Why, Zoro? Tell me why. Give me one good reason."

"Because it's not worth it," Zoro said. He lifted a hand, and it took immense effort to do so. He pointed at Sanji's shoes. "Those are your nice shoes, right? Don't get blood on them."

It was odd to watch the cook's face change so visibly. At first he was still outraged, but then the contours of his anger slowly lessened and then completely disappeared. He lowered his foot and then gave Saga a side jab to the gut, sending him crashing into the dumpster, where he groaned and gagged but did not bleed or die.

Satisfied with the condition of his enemy, Sanji approached Zoro cautiously, as if afraid the man was going to bolt. But Zoro sat still and waited as Sanji cupped his face in his hands, fingertips digging into his cheeks due to the intensity of the cook's grip.

"Fuck," Sanji cursed. "You look like a blind man." He ran his hands through Zoro's hair. "You're so damn drugged, I doubt you'll remember this in the morning."

Zoro teetered, but the cook steadied him with his strong arms. "Let's go home," he said, reaching out toward Sanji's face. He missed, but the cook took his hand and rested it against his own cheek, knowing what the swordsman was trying to do. "Come home, Sanji,"

That was the last thing he remembered.

ZOSAN

When Zoro came to, he had the most astounding headache he had ever felt in his life, and second to that, he realized he was hungry. Very, very hungry. Not the hungriest he was ever in his life, seeing as Luffy had rescued him tied to a pole without eating for weeks, but hungry enough to make the list of his top ten worst mornings ever.

He opened his eyes and saw he was in bed. The beautiful large bed that was in Sanji's room. Feeling more comfortable than his memory had expected him to be, dictating the circumstances of last night, he realized that he had sometime either changed or been changed into sweat pants and a t-shirt. Rolling over, he saw a lump beside him on the bed and as his vision landed upon the swath of blond hair that topped it, he realized he was sleeping next to Sanji. The cook was curled in a shape like a comma with his arm on the pillow above Zoro's head and his other resting on Zoro's shoulder. Due to his proximity, Zoro discerned he must have slept in the other man's arms.

This display of affection did not unsettle Zoro, but it did surprise him. After all, with the way the man reacted around okamas, he was relatively sure that Sanji was terrified of all things homosexual, and after witness the disaster last night with Saga, he was sure that the cook would be rather wary once realizing that hey, maybe Zoro is _gay_.

The cook was currently stirring at the moment, his fingers dragging back across the pillow and his eyes blinking open. Zoro laid and waited as Sanji came to.

"This has been some week, shitty swordsman," the blond said, his voice still heavy with slumber. He stretched languidly in bed, bending his spine, and Zoro heard it crack in a couple of places. The cook sighed and collapsed back on to the mattress, and then glanced at Zoro. He made no move to slide away from him.

"Yeah," Zoro agreed. "And...thank you."

Sanji scowled, and reached for the bedside table with his cigarettes on it, lighting one up, placing his other arm behind his head. "Shut up," he said.

"So, why were you there?" Zoro asked.

"Got a call," Sanji explained. "From Sabo saying he left you at the table and when he came back you weren't there. He said the searched the place for you but couldn't find you, so I headed right over. When I pulled up, I saw you. Simple as that."

"Ah." Zoro would have gestured, but his limbs all felt limp.

"I'm surprised you remember." Sanji leaned over Zoro to ash in the tray that rested on the table on his side of the bed. "I've heard roofies wipe your brain black."

Zoro mustered up enough energy to shrug, because he didn't feel like responding vocally.

"But I don't think you'll be seeing your friend again." At these words, Sanji's eyes appeared haunted, instead of the angry, steely glare that Zoro had expected.

"Why?"

"Luffy busted outside right after you passed out." He took a long drag from his cigarette, and then noticed Zoro was still fixated on him, as if waiting for him to continue. "Do I need to say more? I left with you, I didn't stay to watch, and I wasn't about to stop him." Sanji's teeth clenched down on the butt of his smoke. "I mean, what he slipped you is called the _date rape drug_, Zoro. _Rape _drug. When I think of what he was going to do to you, I can't believe I didn't kill him myself."

"I understand," Zoro said. After this, a silence fell between the two men, Sanji smoking, Zoro watching him blankly, both men collecting their thoughts and once they had finished, neither of the men wanted to divulge them. So instead, they laid there, allowing things that probably should have been said to pass over them.

But Zoro was reminded by the pang in his gut that he wanted to end this solemn moment sooner rather than later, so he lightly kneed the man he laid next to. "Oi, it was pretty slick of you to say you were my husband," he said. "If Saga had known you, he would've never fallen for that."

Sanji sat up and put out his cigarette in the tray. "Yeah," he whispered. "Pretty slick." He threw his legs over the side of the bed and placed his hands on his knees, pushing himself up. Zoro noticed he was wearing the black hoodie that belonged to him again, along with a pair of boxers with hearts all over them. He smirked while the cook couldn't seen him.

"How's breakfast in bed sound, marimo-kun?" Sanji asked, walking toward the door.

"Stupid," Zoro responded. "Don't do that, I'll get up in a second."

Sanji placed his hand on the doorknob and shook his head wearily. "No, just stay there. I want breakfast in bed, got it? So just sit there...can you manage that?" He looked back and flashed him a tired smile. "Bastard?"

"Um...okay?" Zoro said, and with that assurance the cook left and began to fumble around in the kitchen. As soon as Zoro heard the clicking of the stove turning on, the quiet morning noises were once again interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

Zoro rolled and looked at the screen. Unknown, which meant Smoker. "Does anybody else ever call me?" he groaned, picking up.

"What?" he snapped. "I'm fucking tired."

"Roronoa, are you in your apartment?"

Zoro's sense were immediately on alert. The tone in Smoker's voice was serious, dead serious. He didn't ask about "blondie", and he wasn't teasing or insulting the man or even throwing things around his office. "Why?"

"An undercover from Jersey called me last night. They know who you are. Someone could be there right now. I want you to -"

But Zoro never heard what Smoker finished saying, because his voice was drowned out by the sound of a gunshot coming from the kitchen.

_A/N: Sorry if this chapter made any one uncomfortable, but trust me, I don't write about these topics lightly nor without experience. And oh, is that a cliffy? Sorry about that._

_Saga is from the 5th One Piece movie, and thus is not actually canon. I actually liked the character in the movie, and I know he's a good guy at heart, but hey, it's fanfiction, right? Cut me some slack._

_Read and review and all that nice stuff. And no flames, please, I'm sorry about the drug use mention but I felt it was integral to advancing certain motions of plot and character development. _


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. Or really much of anything, for that matter.**

Zoro was not happy. He went back to the Sunny, an inflated and stuffed Luffy in tow, planning to make Sanji a cup of tea and then train until nightfall. But when he went into the galley, he found out it wasn't necessary to bring Sanji anything, because Sanji was already in the kitchen. _Standing_. And cooking, of all things.

"What the hell are you doing?" he insisted.

Sanji didn't even look up from the vegetables he was chopping. "I know you're a little slow, marimo, but I think it's pretty clear that I'm making dinner."

"I can see that," Zoro said. "But what I don't understand is why. You're injured. That means you should be laying down. Where's Chopper? Did he approve this?"

The cook winced. "Uh, no. I sort of lured him to the upper deck with some cotton candy and left him up there. He doesn't know."

Zoro turned, but Sanji stopped him, saying, "Please don't, it's almost ready, there's no point now. Besides," he narrowed his eyes at his crew mate. "Who are you to say I'm moving around too early? You train the next day with wounds that would kill a normal human being."

This statement made Zoro uncomfortable. He recalled what Sanji had asked him yesterday, asking if he really thought the cook was that weak. He didn't want to tread on the man's pride by holding him to a standard that he did not respect for himself. On the other hand, he wanted the cook healed as soon as possible. "That may be true, but you shouldn't follow my shitty example. Besides, it's not as if we all can't cook for ourselves. Even Luffy can roast meat on a spit."

Sanji sighed, flipping some stir fry that was in an oversized frying pan, the aroma of sizzling juices permeating the air of the room. "You make it sound like you guys don't even need me."

Zoro cursed. This was getting ridiculous. He pulled the three swords from his haramaki, sheaths and all, and dumped them on the table. Sanji watched him curiously, but did not move from his spot in front of the stove. With a purpose, the swordsman strode to the cook, steeled himself, and then with all his might shoved the cook up against the far wall, pinning him to it.

Sanji growled down at him. "You bastard, I'm cooking, it'll burn. And that fucking hurts."

"Yeah," Zoro grunted. "I'm sure it does, you happen to have a gash across your fucking back, you idiot cook. Now listen and stop being a bitchy little girl about it. This crew needs you Sanji, probably more than we need anybody else. Except for Nami, we didn't even know what _scurvy_ was until you came aboard. If you think we'll survive without you, you're wrong."

He removed his hands that had been restraining the cook and set him down lightly on the floorboards, adding, "I know for sure I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't what?" the cook asked.

"Survive without you."

Sanji stared at him oddly again, the same look he'd been getting a lot lately - searching his face for hints of a lie, hints that he was just pulling Sanji's leg. But this time, perhaps for the first time since he came here, he felt as though Sanji was really seeing him. He stayed still as the cook's eyes left his face and lingered down his body and then back up again.

"Food's burning, cook," Zoro said smugly, trying to swallow his smile. The cook jumped and cursed, returning the stove to save the meal, which he managed. Feeling accomplished enough for the day, Zoro left the injured man to his own devices, fetching some weights and taking out his sexual frustration on all the other muscles in his body.

It was less than an hour later that the cook called him down to dinner, and he came, a sheen of sweat still on his skin, a faint panting hiding in his breath. As he sat down, he listened to the justified nagging of the doctor, who had discovered he had been duped, but remained silent. The rest of the crew joined them in short order, and after both Nami and Robin had been served, Zoro began to eat.

Although dinner was no different from the usual affair, Zoro couldn't help but notice the lingering gazes that fell on him from the cook. When Sanji set his plate in front of Zoro, he paused, his steady hand hovering for a moment by the swordsman's side. When he refilled his glass, he kept stealing looks at the green-haired man's meditative face. Unsure whether to find these signals disconcerting or encouraging, Zoro resolved to simply feel frustrated, since with Sanji's eyes directed at him far more often, Zoro was unable to steal furtive, less innocent glances himself.

After the crew finished their meals and the cook began cleaning up, Zoro remained where he was, picking up dishes behind the cook until Sanji shooed him away, saying he was doing it all wrong. Instead of leaving the galley, Zoro fetched the newspaper Nami had left on the table, and after a bit of fumbling through his things, he was able to procure the reading glasses he sometimes used, and began to read.

All in all, it was a show. Zoro barely understood the news of this world, and he could honestly care less about the news from New York Times, let alone the Grand Line Times. But he dutifully read on, flipping pages and glancing over the brim occasionally to see that the cook was doing the same, craning his neck over his shoulder as he scrubbed dishes half-heartedly.

Eventually, the cook snapped first, as Zoro knew he would. "Reading the newspaper, marimo, really? " he asked incredulously, breaking the tense silence.

"Well," Zoro said, flipping the page. "I'm not about to read a medical textbook or one of those monstrous tomes in Robin's library." He bit back a yawn that was threatening to rise in his throat. "Or one of the witch's navigation manuals."

"Oi," Sanji said, flicking a warning bit of soapy water at him. "Don't insult Nami-swan like that." He set another dish on the drying rack. "I just don't understand how you have no respect for women."

Zoro set the paper down, folding his hands on top of it. "We just have very different views of women, cook, it's not that I don't respect them."

Sanji turned off the water and faced Zoro, wiping his hands on his apron. "Really?" his tone was dripping with sarcasm. "Enlighten me."

The swordsman knew that Sanji would not understand, because it was something the two of them had never agreed on in all their years of knowing each other, but it didn't stop him from trying once and a while. "I view women as equals. I feel it would insult their abilities to treat them any differently than men, for better or for worse."

There it was, the faint hint of anger, already rising as the cook cracked his knuckles while clenching his fists. "But women should be treated differently," he insisted, "like the delicate flowers that they are, rare and precious -"

Zoro snorted. "I have yet to meet a women who is truly a delicate flower. As you know, both Nami and Robin can hold their own in battle."

Sanji stuttered. "O-of course, but still, it's a man's duty to protect a lady..."

"It's my duty to protect my nakama," Zoro said. "Man or woman or...reindeer. Or skeleton. Or cyborg."

The cook chuckled dryly. "Yeah, they make it complicated, don't they? Luffy doesn't pick up the most normal people." His anger seemed to have dissipated, which meant that the fight was avoided, and he had simply agreed to disagree with the swordsman. As he turned back to his dishes, he teased, "Still, I don't see you catching many women with that attitude, marimo-kun."

Zoro lowered his reading glasses to better glare at Sanji. "I've had my fair share," he said. "And I'm not adverse to the other type, either."

Here it was. Sanji's reaction to the first truth Zoro was prepared to drop at this point. As expected, the man dropped the plate he was washing in the soapy water, which splashed up all over his shirt. He frantically grabbed a towel to soak it up. Rubbing at the wet stain, he turned to Zoro and asked, "What?" It was clear he believed he hadn't head the swordsman properly, or perhaps had drawn the wrong conclusion from his words.

"I told you I treat men and women as equals," Zoro said, still looking at the cook over the brim of his reading glasses. "I mean that in every sense of equality."

"Y-y-you're..." Sanji's mouth tripped over the word. "You're gay?"

Zoro merely raised his eyebrows. "I prefer the term bisexual."

It was always interesting to watch the opposite party adjust to the news. First, the moment of shock that ran across their face, and then the blank expression as they realized how awful they must look. He watched as Sanji again looked for signs of a joke, and then when he found none, began to formulate the proper response, picking all the words in his head carefully, afraid to offend, afraid to entice unwanted actions, afraid of the situation going sour. Zoro waited patiently, glancing down at the newspaper's cover page for a moment, allowing the man some privacy in his thoughts, seeing as Sanji's facial expression were far too easy for him to read.

"I'm still kicking your ass when you disrespect the ladies," Sanji finally said.

Zoro laughed and quickly found Sanji laughing with him. The palpable tension in the room had been alleviated, much to the pirates' delight, and the camaraderie between them had survived the storm of controversial truths undamaged. Instead of returning to dishwashing, Sanji sat down on the opposite side of the table from Zoro, his laughter eventually tapering off to chuckles and then ending.

"Does anybody else know?" Sanji asked.

Zoro shrugged. "I never told anybody, never had a reason to. I'm sure Robin knows, since she seems to know everything. It's not meant to be a secret, though, or anything like that."

"Hm," Sanji said. "So you...came out to me?"

"Don't feel special, damn cook," Zoro snapped. "It's just because the topic came up."

"Do I know this where you come from, too?" Sanji asked.

Zoro felt tempted to say all kinds of perverted things in response, but he settled with a nod, not trusting himself to even open his mouth. After this, silence fell between them. It wasn't as long as before, but Zoro was terrified that this question would spark a new line of questions, like asking if he had a boyfriend, asking what his name was, and all sorts of things he couldn't bring himself to answer. So instead, he reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a folded up poster.

He flourished it open in front of the cook's face with a flick of the wrist. "So," he said, "I found this today."

The poster he was holding was immediately ripped from his hand and then torn in two. The pieces were already on the ground underneath Sanji's unrelenting loafers, beating the paper until it was shreds. It _had been_ Sanji's wanted poster. "Bastard," Sanji cursed. "I don't want to see that bloody thing on this ship!"

Zoro grinned. "Why not?" he teased, and then motioned to the shredded papers. "But it was clever of them to name you Blackleg Sanji. A play on your last name, I'm guessing?"

Sanji looked up from his fuming over the poster. "What?"

"Your last name," Zoro repeated. "Noir. Sanji Noir. Noir means black in french, right?"

The cook just looked at Zoro, the cigarette in his hand completely forgotten. "How did you know that?"

"The french bit or the last name bit?"

The remark made the cook scoff, but it did also encourage him back into movement, as he went to the kitchen and fetched a broom, sweeping up the scraps of demolished wanted poster into a dustpan. "You know which one." He leaned on the broom, looking off into the distance. "I haven't heard that name in years."

"I'm sorry," Zoro said. "I know you always hated your last name, and I guess here, with the life of the pirate, you could leave it behind you. But in New York you have licenses and social security cards, so there was no way you could ditch it."

Sanji picked up the dustpan, still not meeting Zoro's eye, and casually tossed the collected pieces in the trash. "That sucks," he commented.

"Yeah," the swordsman agreed. "You always said you hated carrying the name of that man."

The cook relit his cigarette and stood in front of the piles of unwashed dishes, but made no move to pick one up. "So you know?" he asked softly.

Zoro nodded, although the man could not see him. "About your father? Yeah. I guess it's the same sad story here?"

Sanji's hands gripped the counter. He let out a heavy cloud of smoke. "Drunkard beat and raped my mom to death one night right before my eyes?" he asked in a dead voice. "That sad story?"

"Yeah."

The cook slammed his fist on the counter. "Fucking disgusting that his blood runs in my veins." He raised a hand and roughly massaged the bridge of his nose. "Because of him I still can't - I still can't -"

"Touch a women like that?" Zoro finished for him. "I know."

Sanji whipped around, his eyes wild with hurt. "How the fuck do you know all this?" he screamed, brandishing a fist at Zoro from across the room. Zoro did not rise from his seat to the challenge.

"You told me," he explained. "How else?"

"But why?" asked the cook. "I don't want anyone to know."

Zoro sighed, leaning back in his chair. He did not know why, but he felt slightly defeated. "I guess...you trusted me. You knew I'd care."

And then he knew why he felt defeated when he saw the cook's reaction. He was fuming, legs spread in fighting stance, hands gripping his wet stained dress shirt, eyebrows low and tightly twisted. "Finish the fucking dishes," he said, spit flying from his mouth as he talked. "And don't breath a word to anybody." He raised a knee threateningly. "Anybody, you got that?"

Once Zoro had nodded his consent, the cook ripped out of the galley much faster than his injury should have allowed, slamming the door shut behind him. Taking off his glasses, Zoro set them down gently atop the paper and moved to the sink, looking at all the dishes, before sinking his hands in the soapy water and beginning the tedious task.

As he washed, he thought, thinking about how well Sanji had taken to his sexuality, and how badly Sanji had reacted to Zoro's knowledge of his past. It made sense, since after all it had taken Sanji quite a long time into their relationship for him to reveal this painful side of his life, a truth he had never told anybody, not even his uncle Zeff. Actually, it had only come up because when they were planning their marriage and the things that came with it, Sanji had surprised Zoro by asking him if he could have his last name. He had said that he wanted to carry the name of a man he respected, and Zoro had conceded after hearing his tale.

He smiled gently as he recalled how often he teased the man, calling him Mrs. Roronoa until the blond was fit to burst with rage. But in recent months, the cook had devised the recipe for sweeter revenge than kicks and insults. He had stopped using this unfavored nickname the very first time Sanji had responded by swirling over to him with hearts in his eyes, asking what his dear _marimo-chwan _could desire from him. The bile that Zoro had to swallow that time, and at the memory of it, was enough to make him regret ever teasing his wily husband.

ZOSAN

It was early the next morning when Zoro left to head back to the town to see the tailor. Regardless of the time he left, he did not reach the street the tailor was on until afternoon, walking helplessly around the winding paths of the city, unsure of where he was or where exactly he was going, but trusting he would stumble upon his destination eventually, and he did.

As soon as Zoro entered the shop, the tailor's eyes appeared to brighten at the sight of him. "My desperate client!" he greeted.

"Oi," Zoro said. "I'm not desperate."

The tailor waved his hand dismissively. "Sure, sure," he murmured. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. I'll go get the shirt, I think you'll like it." He took off into a room in the back and Zoro waited with his hands on the hilts of his swords, glancing around the seedy shop nervously, as though he was afraid to be caught in here.

The man returned in due time, brandishing a beautiful blue dress shirt draped on a wooden hanger, perfectly crisp and cut. "Bring it into the light," Zoro ordered, coming closer to see it better. As the tailor complied, he studied the new hue of the material and smiled softly. It was a bright and vibrant blue, the exact shade of the cook's eyes, like both the sea and the sky. It was a color Zoro had come to associate with home.

"Perfect," he allowed himself to tell the tailor, who seemed pleased at this response.

"I thought so." He hung the shirt up on the rack next to him and leaned on the counter, pulling lightly on the measuring tape that was round his neck like a scarf. "So how is your little romance going, swordsman-san?"

"None of your business," Zoro growled, pulling the proper amount of bills from his pocket and slamming them on the table. "Stop asking question and just do your job, old man."

The tailor collected the money, completely unfazed by the anger gleaming in Zoro's eyes. "Have you thought of how you are going to break this suit in?"

"Eh?" Zoro raised an eyebrow.

Sighing, the tailor sat down and rubbed his temples. "Oh, kids nowadays," he murmured to himself, and then looking up, he said to Zoro, "You can't just buy a suit and give it to him with him having no occasion to wear it to. You have to break it in with a night on the town or something." He tapped the counter insistently. "It just wouldn't be special otherwise."

"I'm not taking him on a date!" Zoro barked.

"Then you must not want to get laid," the tailor said with a wry smile twisting the wrinkles on his face. Zoro cursed at him. Damn old man was right. The tailor noted Zoro's frustration with sick satisfaction. "But don't think I won't help a fellow man in need. Want some advice, kid?"

"No," Zoro said flatly. He made no move to leave the shop.

The man across from him laughed. "Tell him to join you for drinks," he suggested. "Then take him out to a place just around the block from here, it's called The Blue Bell, they have excellent service and quite the menu." He brushed his hand down the blue shirt he had just shown Zoro contemplatively. "I'm sure any man who appreciates fine tailoring will appreciate fine dining just the same."

Zoro considered it. He was sure he could talk the crew into insisting Sanji take a night off from cooking with his injury and treat him to dinner on the town, even pass it off as him trying to repay his debt for the injury Sanji took for him. Still... "It's way to forward," Zoro said aloud.

The tailor pointed at Zoro's three swords. "I've heard many things about you, Roronoa Zoro, but never did they say you were a coward."

"You knew who I was!" Zoro yelled. The tailor gave a deadpan look at his green hair and three swords strapped to his waist, which caused the swordsman to shrug. Okay, perhaps it was a given. "And I'm no fucking coward, old man, I don't need to prove it to you, though."

"Didn't expect you to," he replied. "But on top of that, you're a pirate. So do what pirates do."

"What's that?"

"Take what you want."

Zoro nodded at the tailor solemnly, removing his hands from their rest atop his swords, and bowed slightly to the older man before muttering, "Thank you for your advice," and taking his leave from the shop. As much as he detested the nosy tailor, he had been right about everything so far. And so what if it was too forward and daring? That was Zoro's style, and he also wouldn't want to give his Sanji anything less than the best treatment. After all, it was sort of nice to have a second chance to try to catch the blond the right way this time around.

His determination renewed, Zoro began to walk with a purpose back toward the ship, until a voice called out to him from the end of the street - "Oi, Zoro! Zoro!"

The swordsman turned to see their resident sniper waving at him, and the lanky man pointed the opposite way from the direction Zoro was heading. "If you're going back to the ship," Usopp called. "It's that way, man!"

"I knew that!" Zoro snapped, and took off in the direction Usopp indicated, ignoring the liar's jeering laughter that was coming from behind him. How they all survived in this world without GPS or navigation on their smart phones was beyond Zoro. Not that his state of the art navigation system had ever helped him much. It was why he stuck to the same routes as always in the city, and avoided the confusing subway lines like the plague.

When the swordsman eventually got back to the ship, it appeared that everybody was still out for the day, except for the shitty cook, who was actually doing what he was supposed to be doing and resting for the time being. After checking on the sleeping figure of the cook, allowing his eyes to study his peaceful for a second more than would be allowed regularly, Zoro headed up to the crow's nest and began to train. As he lifted weights, his mind cleared and his fears of Sanji's rejection dissapated. He would not allow himself to fail in a battle and he was not about to allow himself to loose this man.

Zoro was so enrapt in his training that his sensory abilities, completely relaxed in the safety of the ship, did not capture the sound of somebody entering the crow's nest behind him and slowly sliding until the intruder was within attacking range. Zoro continued to lift weights, sweat dripping down his bare back, as the intruder watched and planned their next more leisurely, the swordsman completely oblivious until a wild kick came raining down from above.

"Shit!" Zoro cursed, dropping his weights and grabbing his head, whipping around to see who had attacked him and caused such serious pain to be ringing through his skull at the moment. Sure enough, it was the cook, holding a full mug in one hand and a plate of snacks in the other. He wasn't grinning, but he wasn't scowling either.

"Figured you'd want a snack," the cook said, offering the food. In reality, Zoro saw right through the motion. It was an apology for his overreaction yesterday. The swordsman made eye contact with the blond so it was clear he understood the ramifications of his actions, taking both the food and the apology in stride.

"I'm glad you didn't come all the way up here just to kick me, shitty cook," Zoro said, taking a hearty gulp from the ale and biting into one of the appetizer-sized snacks. It was refreshing and delicious. Sometimes Zoro forgot how spoiled he was with this man's cooking.

"I can kick you whenever I want, marimo, don't put it past me." Sanji sat down on the bench and lit up a cigarette, watching the swordsman eat. As he continued eating, Zoro decided that perhaps training was done for the day, so he pulled his shirt back on, a button down striped t-shirt that he left open. But as the swordsman was cooling down, it appeared the cook was heating up, due to the humid air condensed in the small room. He took off his jacket and unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt, loosening his tie to hang lightly around his neck.

Trying his hardest not to stare lustily, Zoro concentrated on his meal, until he felt the odd sense of being watched wash over him. He looked up and found that the watcher was, in fact, the present cook in the room, his eyes again lingering over Zoro as they had done last night at dinner. Not just his face, but down his chest and abs, watching his arms as they lifted his glass to his lips. As slow realization dawned on the swordsman, he smiled to himself.

"Like what you see, love cook?" he teased.

Sanji nearly jumped out of his chair, and a violent and vivid blush rose immediately to his cheeks. "W-what the fuck, marimo? I'm not like you. Don't go getting thoughts in you head."

"Yeah," Zoro murmured huskily. He set down his mug of ale and stood up, taking a few slow-moving steps toward Sanji. He approached him as if trying to catch an animal, and Sanji sat still like a deer caught in the headlights as Zoro took another few steps closer to him. The swordsman distracted him with words, saying, "I know you weren't looking at me, cook, don't worry."

Once he had reached the blond, who was backing up against the wall but not moving from his seat, Zoro kneeled down on one knee in front of him, and slowly reached his hand up from below, never touching Sanji but allowing it to hover just inches above his skin so the man was alit with goosebumps. "Don't mind me," Zoro whispered, his fingers gently taking Sanji's cigarette in his hand. He took it from the cook's mouth and leaned forward. The cook leaned in as well, his lips still parted, his eyes wide and anxious.

The swordsman took the smoke and placed it between his own lips, taking a small drag. He exhaled in Sanji's expectant face, who blinked and teared up slightly at the wisps of smoke. "I just wanted a drag," Zoro said, placing the cigarette back between the man's lips, the tension between them strung to its sharpest point. The swordsman felt blood rushing toward his groin, begging him to incite his muscles into action, to pin the clearly willing man before him to the wall and take him like he had never taken him before.

But he ignored this desire. It was too soon, the cook would be swift to deny him, despite his curious stature at the moment. So with the acute pain of ripping oneself from temptation, Zoro pressed down on his one knee and rose to stand and leave the crow's nest, never glancing behind him, even though he could hear the out of pace breathing of the cook from behind him.

As he closed the door to the nest, Zoro listened before making his way down the mast and rigging. He heard a low, baritone groan of frustration. And then, in a broken voice that he felt guilty for eavesdropping on, he heard the cook chaste himself, saying, "I need to keep my hormones in check. I'm going fucking crazy, that shitty swordsman..."

Swallowing his laughter, Zoro began his descent to the deck below, leaving Sanji to his thoughts. He knew the man was frustrated with himself and his sexual desires that had likely gone unfulfilled for a while, but those hormones would prove Zoro's most useful ally, especially since he had learned over the years exactly how to break down the man defenses, one by one. He knew just what to say and just where to touch, and he was going to use every weapon in his arsenal when he got his chance.

_A/N: Added some Sanji headcanon about his past. Hope you liked the latest installment, and I'll be getting on the next chapter as soon as possible. Take care and read and review. _


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. Also, this is rated M. Don't read if you aren't "mature." I think that's pretty clear, but just to reiterate, since fanficiton apparently thinks this isn't so obvious.**

A gunshot. A loud, echoing, unmuffled gunshot.

Zoro tore down the hallway, leaving his phone on the bed which was emanating the sounds of Smoker's shouts demanding "What the bloody hell is going on there? Roronoa!" He didn't respond, though, already rounding the corner to the kitchen, crying out,

"Sanji!"

There were two figures in the main room, one on the ground, twitching and writing in pain, the second grinning at Zoro, his foot on the other man's face. It was Sanji who was standing, smoking a cigarette, rubbing his bare feet into the intruder's stubbled cheek. The cook was shaking his finger at the man, as if berating a misbehaved child.

"You broke my fucking arm, you psycho!" the man cursed.

"Well," Sanji responded. "You were trying to shoot me with that arm. I had no choice, now did I?" He looked at the far cabinet in distaste, as it had a bullet hole running through the beautiful mahogany. "And you shot one of my cabinets. There is nice china in there. I won't appreciate it if any of my plates are broken."

The cook looked up at Zoro and moved his foot to step on the man's broken arm, eliciting a cry of pain. "You'd think with the rent we pay for this place, they'd have better security, right, marimo?"

Zoro shook his head. "You scared the shit out of me, cook."

Sanji chuckled. "Worried your breakfast would be ruined? Don't worry, it's on a low simmer, the omelet should be fine."

"You know what I meant," Zoro said, walking over to get a closer look at the man who broke into his home. The man appeared to be a typical thug, torn jeans, oversized hoodie, and his 9mm scattered a good ten feet away from his right hand, which was still clutching at the ground, attempting to reach for it. He ceased his reaching when his eyes found Zoro's face.

"Shit," he cursed. "I wasn't paid to deal with you. They told me you'd be knocked out until noon at least."

Sanji moved his foot back to the man's face, pressing down on his jaw until the man began to splutter and choke on his tongue. "You wouldn't have stood a chance either way, buddy, now be a good boy and shut your shitty mouth."

The man spit out blood. "I don't want to be lectured by you faggots."

Zoro was unsure what the term _faggot_ meant, but he picked up that it was a nasty insult, judging by the tone it was spoken in and the rage that it invited on to Sanji's face. The cook drew back his leg and slammed his heel into the man's side, sending him flying across the room into the far wall, clutching his gut and crying out in pain. "My fucking ribs," he cursed. "You broke my ribs, you faggot!"

Sanji marched over to him and snatched one of Zoro's swords off the shelf. "Say that word one more time and I'll show you how much of a faggot I can be with this fucking sword, got it, bastard?"

The man shut up and didn't move.

Placing Zoro's sword back on the shelf without using it, which Zoro greatly appreciated, Sanji turned to him and pointed to the bedroom. "You were on the phone?" he asked. "Finish the call and then come back in here, it's time you and I had a little chat."

"Don't order me around, cook," Zoro said, but in spite of his words, he went back down the hall and picked his phone off the rumpled bedspread. Smoker was still on the other line, cursing up a storm.

"Oi, oi, shut up," Zoro said. "Everything's fine."

"Bullshit," Smoker growled. "I heard a fucking gunshot."

"Just some thug, he's been taken care of. But I guess you were right. He said he was sent after Sanji."

"Damn it all to hell, Roronoa. Do you have a friend's place you a blondie can head to while I work my way to the bottom of this?"

"Yeah," Zoro said. "But we probably won't go. I'd like to have breakfast, I have a headache. It's been a hell of a week."

Smoker stuttered on the other end. "I-I-I just can't...I can't fucking work with you! Shit! You get hurt and I'll kill you, you hear me? I'll kill you with my bare hands!"

"Sure thing," Zoro replied. "Call me when you know who I need to cut down so I can sleep in peace." After this, he hung up the phone, tucking it in his pocket in case Smoker called back sometime soon.

Zoro walked back to the kitchen to see that the intruder was already gagged and bound, propped up against the bookshelf in the corner, glaring at them with his beady brown eyes. His 9mm was sitting on the coffee table, looking more like a paperweight than a deadly weapon. Sanji was standing at the stove, putting the finishing touches on two omelets, and then chopping up a selection of fresh fruits.

There was a knock at the door, which caused both Zoro and the tied up man to jump. "Get the door, would you?" Sanji requested. "It's Ace and a friend, I asked them to come over and take out some trash." He pointed with his spatula to the gagged man on the ground, who started to writhe in a panic.

Zoro walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Sure enough, Ace's freckled face was grinning back at him. He opened it and let the eldest D brother as well as a slightly older man with a tuft of blond hair on his head inside. They shut the door quickly behind them, and glanced around the apartment.

"Zoro, meet Marco," Ace said, gesturing to his friend. Marco reached out and shook Zoro's hand. His grip was ridiculously strong. "Marco, this is my friend Zoro and you know Sanji, right?"

Marco raised two fingers in a salute to Sanji who nodded back at him. "Sure thing," he said. "So is this the trash you want taken care of?" He pointed at the intruder, as if he really were just a black garbage bag.

"Yeah," Sanji said. At his confirmation, Ace crouched down in front of the man and looked him in the eye.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he berated, shaking his head. "What have you gotten involved in this time, Zoro-kun?"

"I've been wondering that myself," Sanji said as he dished out the breakfast on to two separate plates, giving Zoro a meaningful look.

"Uh..." Zoro rubbed the back of his neck, trying to remember what Smoker had called it. "Human traffickers. Apparently they discovered my identity."

"Human traffickers?" Ace asked. "What ever happened to the good old drug cartels? When did you switch venues?"

Zoro shrugged. "It got local, so I went and took care of it. Haven't climbed all the way up the ladder yet, though, so I still need to finish the job."

"Well as long as you don't get involved in the underground weapon dealers, it's really none of my business," Ace said.

"Speaking of that," Sanji added, munching on a strawberry. "There's a 9mm on the table, if you want it. We'll have no use for it."

"Bleh." Ace stuck out his tongue. "I'd rather use a BB gun."

"I'll take it," Marco said. "I'm sure we'll find a use for it somewhere." He snatched the gun from the table and tucked it into the belt of his jeans. Meanwhile, Ace bent down and started to untie the man, speaking softly but clearly to him.

"My name is Ace," he said. He gestured to his blond friend. "This guy's name is Marco. We're not your friends. We're going to untie you and lift you gag. You say one word, and we'll kill you. You make a move, and we'll kill you slowly." He finished untying the man, but before he removed his gag, he said, "And I don't like to throw my weight around, but just so we're clear, let's see if you've heard of me. They like to call me _Firefist_."

At the last word, the intruder's eyes widened and he suddenly appeared rather pale and in danger of passing out. Retaining his consciousness by a thread, he nodded loosely, and when Ace removed his gag, he did not even make a squeak.

Marco reached down and helped the man up like he was helping up a friend who had just taken a tumble. Wincing, the intruder stood, gripping his side with his good arm, but he didn't dare to complain. He just leaned against Marco's supporting arm and followed him to the door.

"Toodles!" Ace chimed, leaving with both Marco and the man, who would likely leave on the fastest train out the city the next morning if he was alive enough to do so.

Zoro turned to Sanji, who pointed at the plate he had set on the counter for Zoro. "Eat," he insisted. "You must be hungry. I'll explain my side as you do so, and you will talk after."

The swordsman sat and began to eat ravenously, devouring the omelet in three bites, and Sanji pushed another full plate in front of him, leaning back against the counter and lighting a cigarette. He sighed and glanced out the window for a moment, looking at the tall steel buildings that seemed to pierce through the sky with the heavy fog that was out this morning.

"Ace and Marco work for Whitebeard, one of the largest crime lords in the country, hell, probably the world. Sabo works for a man named Dragon, and Luffy works on his own, but they all run in the same circles: casino robbery, bank robbery, and even good old fashioned piracy," he grinned at Zoro. "You never knew about it, which is why it was so ironic when you woke up a couple of days ago insisting we were all pirates. They certainly don't sail the seven seas, but they'll interrupt a cargo ship full of weapons on its way to a drug cartel down south with a speedboat, no problem."

He tipped the ash that had gathered at the end of his smoke in the tray beside him, saying, "Which, besides the fact that I was genuinely terrified for your life seven days of the week, was the other reason why I encouraged you to quit your assassin work. God forbid you ever got a call to take out Luffy or something, you could imagine what a mess that would be."

Zoro nodded, finishing his second plate by this time, now picking at the fruits that Sanji had laid out for him. They were all sweet and in season, the finest pick of the bunch.

"Now, here's what I don't know. I don't know when you started working for Smoker again, and I don't know when you got involved with human traffickers, and I don't know when nor how they figured out who you are. So, if we're going to get out of this mess together, I need you to tell me the truth."

The swordsman sat down his fork, feeling fully satisfied. The news that Sanji had told him did not overly surprise him. In fact, the only curious thing the cook had mentioned was unrelated to manners of this world, and that was that Sabo worked for Dragon, which meant he worked for Luffy's father. Did Luffy know this? Did Dragon? Did Sabo? And if there was a Sabo is his own world, was Sabo working for Dragon there, a revolutionary? Still, he wasn't about to fall for Sanji's tricks.

"You said you'd tell me everything," he said. "You haven't told me everything yet."

Sanji pulled deeply on his cigarette. "I know," he said, "but I will. But that's going to take a lot of talking, and we don't really have time for that now, do you understand? I promise I'm not keeping things from you on purpose any longer, but we need to deal with these assholes if their gonna keep shooting up my cabinets."

Zoro didn't think it was the cabinets Sanji was concerned about, but then again, with the cook you could never truly tell. "Fine, at least tell me what a faggot is and why it made you so mad."

The cook laughed. "Well, let's see, it's a word for a bundle of sticks and slang for a smoke in some places...but the way he meant it as was a nasty, dirty name for men who sleep with other men."

"Oh," Zoro said. "Me, I guess."

"Well," Sanji said, "As far as I know, you're bisexual."

"I told you that?" Zoro asked.

"What? You've never told anyone else?" He shook his head. "Figures. Yes, you told me. It's no big deal."

Zoro shifted in his chair slightly. It explained why Sanji hadn't been surprised when he caught him kissing Saga, and hadn't demanded an explanation for that man-on-man act in the morning. It was a relief to know that the cook had obviously accepted Zoro's sexuality in stride, since he was still living with him and treating him the same as always.

Zoro conceded that they had to deal with the matter at hand first, and he explained to Sanji how he had gotten a call from Smoker, and how he had went to Brooklyn two days ago under the guise of Ashura, taking out Peterman and his men, and how he was apparently connected to a dangerous fellow named Doflamingo, and then the contents of the call he had gotten from Smoker the day before and this morning. He also added, "And I don't think it was her, but a girl that was captured by Peterman recognized me. She said her name was Caimie..."

"Caimie-chwan!" Sanj's eyes lit up and he became as limp and wriggly as a wet noodle, his hands on either side of his face, holding his cheeks in delight. "I can't believe Caimie was in trouble, how awful!" Then he stopped his squirming to glare directly at Zoro under the fringe of his hair. "How dare you steal rescuing a damsel in distress from me, you shitty swordsman!"

Typical Sanji. Zoro just rolled his eyes. "But what I don't understand," Sanji pressed on, "is why you felt the need to take on these jobs after you retired a year ago. Do you have any idea, or not?"

Zoro scratched the back of his neck. "Ah, well, the money for the jobs is going into a separate account. Smoker mentioned I was saving up for something, but it's not like I could ask him what."

Sanji studied Zoro's face, as if trying to see if he was telling the whole truth. Once satisfied, he turned away quickly, but just before he did, he saw his face fall. "I don't know what you're saving up money for in secret, either, marimo." He kicked the cabinets below the stove lightly enough so that way they did not break. "Fuck, you don't even know what you were hiding from me, it makes it so messy!"

"In fairness," Zoro said, "it sounds like you were hiding a lot more from me for a lot longer."

"Yeah," Sanji agreed, "but...it wasn't my secret to tell."

Before he could reply, the flat was filled with the sound of a phone ringing. Zoro reached for his pocket, but it turned out that it was actually Sanji's phone. He waved it in Zoro's face to show his was the one ringing before answering.

"Hello?" He paused, listening intently. "Yes, this is he. How may I help you?" Then his eyes grew wide. "Oh! Oh yes, yes, we'll be there for our appointment next week." He nodded a couple of times, throwing in his consent to the person on the other line. "Of course. Of course. Yes, we're very excited to come in. Thank you for your time. No, no, thank you. Okay. Take care."

The cook hung up, and turned to Zoro with a giddy grin on his face, but as soon as he met Zoro's eyes, his expression seemed to fall right off to the ground below him, that he looked down at defeatedly. "Who was it?" Zoro asked.

"Uh...just some place I've been dealing with lately. Food stuff, you know."

"Uh-huh," Zoro said. Worst lie he'd ever seen.

"Well, I don't have work today," Sanji said, changing the topic uncomfortably fast. "And I don't know if it's a bright idea for us to go out. I guess Smoker wants us to evacuate the premises, huh?"

Zoro nodded. "But fuck him, I'm tired as hell. I want to just go back to bed."

Sanji looked out the window for a second, glanced at his phone, and then pressed the _off_ button gently. He gathered all the dishes and placed them, still dirty, in the sink. "You're right," he agreed. "I don't feel like being responsible. Let's go back to sleep, Zoro."

The swordsman raised his eyebrow in shock. "You're gonna leave the dirty dishes?"

Sanji shook his head. "Don't make me change my mind, marimo-kun."

"But what if another intruder shows up?"

The cook shook his head. "Once Ace and Marco finish up, they are going to watch the apartment. They'll probably want to raid the fridge, too. If I'm sleeping they'll have no choice, and unless they bring Luffy along, they'll be too polite to bother me. They can watch movies and let us rest. I've done the same for them in the past before."

"Three steps ahead, again, cook?" Zoro smirked. "But they'll bother me, asshole, I sleep on the couch."

Sanji frowned. He rubbed the back of his head and sheepishly shuffled his feet. "About that...uh..." He smiled cheekily up at Zoro. "We may actually share the bed. Sorry, seaweed-head, it was just too good of an opportunity to miss."

Zoro jumped off the barstool, declaring, "I'll kill you, love cook!" But Sanji had already taken off down the hall as fast as those long, pumping legs could carry him, laughing all the way. Zoro chased after, skidding around the corner and flinging the door to the bedroom open to see the blond had already jumped under the covers and was lying there as if pretending to already be asleep.

The swordsman was not about to have it. He growled and jumped on the bed, and although the cook tried to struggle out of the way, Zoro had the upper hand and was able to pin his thighs with his knees and he grabbed his skinny wrists in both hands, pinning them above Sanji's head.

"Now I have you." He grinning his bloodlust smile. "And if we have nothing better to do all day, you might as well tell me the whole truth."

"And nothing but the truth so help me God?" Sanji said. "You'll have to _make_ me."

Zoro wasn't one to back down from a challenge. He stretched his legs to pin the cook's ankles with the heels of his feet and placed his one free hand around the cook's thin neck. "Think I wouldn't?" he teased.

Sanji gasped. "Dare you," he bite out under the pressure on his throat. Zoro pressed down even harder, but the cook was fast to retaliate, thrusting with his hips to dislodge Zoro, a powerful thrust that sent the swordsman tumbling on his back, and the agile blond was soon on top of him, one leg above Zoro's head to keep his hands down, the other a threatening knee in the groin. His hands were free to pull Zoro head back by his hair, baring his throat to Sanji involuntarily.

Before the cook could enjoy his victory, Zoro kicked up and unsettled the cook enough to free his hands, which he used to snatch the man's leg and send him flying through the air before he crashed back down on the mattress, his head landing as roughly as it could atop a mass of pillows. Sanji growled and cursed, Zoro's one hand holding him again, his legs completely pinned, and the other hand pulling at Sanji's hair. As the swordsman felt the cook's struggling intensify and risked loosing control of his hands, he brought up his right from Sanji's hair to completely pin him.

"I win," he growled.

There was a moment, where the two men stared at each other, blood still pumping from their wrestling match, when Zoro's eyes met Sanji's and he suddenly found himself taken aback by what he saw in them. First, he realized they were blue, a beautiful blue that reminded him of both the sea and the sky of the Grand Line, and impassioned color that still retained a cool calmness about them. But at the moment, they were about to consume the swordsman whole, as if the waters they represented were too deep, too wild for even one of the strongest pirates of the sea to handle. He felt himself leaning in, sinking deeper, the same feeling he got when he was on the verge of drowning and desperately kicking up toward the light shining on the surface of the waves.

But the moment was gone, and Sanji's eyes were gone too, because he was no longer sinking below the surface - he was on the waves, tossing in the tide, and the tide was a pair of demanding, hungry lips, pressed against his with a force that no other man he knew could muster, taking like the pirate he was in his blood.

"Sanji," Zoro breathed, but he hardly had time to think before the cook thrust his tongue into the swordsman's mouth, teasing at his own tongue, smashing their jaws together with enough power to bruise. It was unexpected, it shouldn't be happening, but unlike when he was drugged and kissing Saga, there was no voice in the back of his head insisting everything was wrong. If anything, the rational front of his brain was rejecting the circumstances, but the back of his mind had a different idea. It whispered that it was right, it whispered that this is what he had always wanted.

And that was when Zoro lost control and began pressing back, biting at the bottom of Sanji's lip and kissing him back with all his might, pressing him deep into the mattress below him. He pulled himself from the lips and began to kiss down the cook's sharp jawline and found the perfect spot on the side of his neck where his lustful pulse was pounding and bit down, sucking and nibbling as the blond pressed up against him from beneath, his warm body setting every nerve in Zoro's alight.

The cook's hands, which Zoro had freed without meaning to, were pulling at the fabric on Zoro's back desperately, and Zoro moved in tandem, allowing Sanji to rip the shirt from his chest in one swift motion. He paused for just a second before he began to tug on the buttons on the shirt Sanji had changed into, his thick fingers fumbling until each one of them were free. In the meantime, he vaguely noticed that Sanji was rubbing his long, delicate fingers over Zoro's abs and chest. Once he shirt was unbuttoned, Sanji dug his nails into Zoro's back, which caused the swordsman to gasp, and pulled his down into another hungry kiss.

The kiss quickly turned gentle, though, which unsettled Zoro. His muscles grew weak and nearly buckled as Sanji nibbled at his lip and softly licked the curve of his ear, breathing heavily into it and igniting a deep, animalistic urge in Zoro's groin. But as he did so, Sanji changed paces rather quickly, flipped the swordsman so he laid beneath him, the cook straddled over him, hands resting on his pectorals.

Sanji grinned devilishly before lowering himself to Zoro neck, lightly grazing his skin with his teeth but never truly biting, moving lower and lower until his tongue snaked out to run a circle around one of Zoro's pert nipples. The swordsman could not bite back the moan that escaped from his mouth. Sanji slowly trailed over to his other pectoral and teased the nerves there, before nipping at the tight bud at the end, and in the same motion, grinding his own hard length against Zoro's.

"Fuck, cook," Zoro gasped. "What are you doing?"

Sanji looked up for a moment, his eyelids lowered in the haze of lust, his cheeks flushed ever so slightly, his blond hair tousled. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly and low, saying "I'm going to blow your shitty mind, marimo."

Zoro nearly came then and there, gripped the sheets below his fingers, begging for self control as the cook's tongue travelled down to his navel, dipping his tongue in for just a moment, and then licking down the thin trail of hair that led below the belt. Sanji did not immediately remove Zoro's pants, but instead stuck his fingers in the elastic waistband, stretching the material in a teasing motion, and then he slowly lowered both the sweatpants and the boxers Zoro was wearing, exposing his hard length to the atmosphere.

Zoro's breath had completely caught in his throat. He watched with wide and unsure eyes as Sanji hummed in a low tone to himself, before lowering his mouth to hover right above Zoro's head. Then, like a deft and agile snake, his tongue snuck out between his lips and licked just the tip of precum off of Zoro's arousal. Zoro groaned, deep and guttural, from the very depths of himself, both his hips and his length twitching.

Sanji glanced up again, and while still holding eye contact with Zoro, he opened his mouth and lowered the warm, concealing inside of his throat to the tip of Zoro, and then pulled back slowly, puckering his lips to come off the end with a _pop_. His swift and pointed tongue ran down the vein that worked up the middle of Zoro's hard length, and it continued down low, below the base, down until Zoro's balls were both encased in the most heavenly, perfect warmth. He felt a swift tongue swirl across them and they were sucked on lightly, the pressure just enough to make Zoro buck his hips forward once more.

Then Sanji pulled back up and this time he send kisses down Zoro length. The swordsman wanted to beg the cook to please, please stop teasing him, but at the same time, he didn't want to man to stop entirely, so he stayed silent, hands still bunching the sheets beneath his fingers, watching as the cook lifted again and this time, yes, this time, he lowered his mouth over Zoro's head and kept continuing down, slowly, as Zoro remained still, the cook going down until his lips brushed the soft patch of dark curly hair around Zoro's privates. Then his lips clamped down and he moved up, all the while running his tongue along the bottom and then finishing up with a swirl around the top.

It was too much for Zoro. He removed his hands from the sheets and ran them deep in Sanji's hair, not pressing at all, but just gripping needfully as the cook began to lower himself and pull up faster and tighter each time, humming deep in the back of his throat, the vibrations sending delicious friction through Zoro's sexuality. it was nothing the swordsman would have ever imagined and yet it was so much better than anything he could have imagined. Sanji was gorgeous and yet handsome, he was strong and yet gentle, he was rough and yet meticulous. He was everything Zoro never knew he wanted.

And it was in this moment, Zoro gasping out the cook's name, his hands tangled in his blond strands as he bopped his head up and down on his sex that Zoro's eyes fell upon the one truth he constantly forgot about in this world, the one truth that he was duty bound to not ignore any longer.

The tan line on his left hand from where his ring had been.

Suddenly, Zoro pulled fiercely at Sanji's hair, ripping the man upward off of his length, which protested to the cold and dry air. Sanji winced at the pain and battered Zoro's hand away.

"What the fuck, asshole?" he demanded.

"Say that to yourself!" Zoro said, shoving him aside with his foot and pulled his pants over his still hard self. "What the hell are you playing at? Whatever it is, I'm not interested." He waved his hand in Sanji's face. "You may want to forget it and never tell me about it, but I was wearing a ring for a fucking reason, and I'm not doing anything that would betray this person, whether or not I know about it!"

Sanji kneeled up on the bed and fiercely shoved Zoro back down into the mattress, but it was not sexual in nature this time, merely aggressive. "Sorry," he snapped, "Guess Saga didn't count though, right?"

"I was fucking drugged!" Zoro cried, shoving back at the cook, which toppled him over likewise, but he pushed himself back up again.

"Have you ever thought about how it would make them _feel_ if you saw them, knowing that you don't even remember loving them... knowing that..." Sanji pulled at his hair desperately. "How it would feel when you looked at them in pity, like I know you fucking will, shitty swordsman?"

"If I married her, I love her, end of story, shitty cook!" Zoro barked. Once the words left his mouth, a sharp sting ran across his check and his face was sent flying to the side. Rubbing his jaw, he looked up to see Sanji kneeling before him on the mattress, eyes stormy, hair a wreck, shirt still unbuttoned and hand raised. He had backhanded Zoro.

"Fuck you, Zoro. You are so fucking dumb. You don't have a wife."

"Then what's the wedding ring for, bastard?"

Sanji fell back, resting himself on the heels of his feet. "For your husband."

_A/N: Oh, blue balls! Oh no! Read and review, I got this out super fast so you guys should love me.. =] _

_Oh, and I don't know about all these rumors about fanfictions being deleted, but I'm a young, politically active, college educated American woman and I'm not about to sit by and let my rights and freedoms be infringed upon, regardless of my controversial tastes. And I'm not about to be intimidated either, so I'll keep updating like nothing's changed, thanks._


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece. If I did, (spoilers 671 Manga) Law would not be bleeding, nor would Monet be flirting with my man. That is unforgivable. **

After Sanji had finished cleaning up after dinner, he decided it was time that he headed into town. Letting Usopp know where he'd be, he lowered himself slowly off the ship, allowing himself to wince in pain since nobody could see him, and began the slow and steady march toward his destination. It took him a while to get there, and by the time he arrived, he had to wipe the sweat of exertion off his brow. Perhaps he was a bit more wounded than he had anticipated.

Nevertheless, he had made it all the way here, and he wasn't about to leave without fulfilling his purpose. Nami-swan had told him there was a nice tailor shop off of Main Street, which was very darling of her to be thinking of him since his nice suit jacket and shirt were ruined in that shitty bounty hunter attack.

When he found the shop he believed Nami was referring to, he was a bit disconcerted. It looked shabby from the outside, the sign worn and the wood peeling. But sure not to judge a book by his cover, Sanji went in, hearing the tinkling of a bell clink behind him.

Behind the counter, there was an old man with wiry gray hair with a needle in his mouth, squinting down at a pair of pants he had in his hands. He glanced up for a moment as the cook walked in.

"I was about to close up," the old man said, "What can I do for you?"

"Sorry for coming at such a late hour," Sanji returned politely. "But I was just looking to replace a double-breasted three-button suit jacket that recently fell to misfortune, as well as a dress shirt. I'll make it worth your while."

The tailor looked up from his work again, this time studying Sanji with a more serious, practiced eye. "You have blue eyes," he said, as if it was the most simple way to start a conversation.

"Uh, yeah," Sanji said, lightly touching at his face. "What's it to you?"

"Blue eyes, blond hair, long legs..." The tailor rose and made his way to Sanji with a slight limp and began to circle him. The cook was beginning to feel more than a little uncomfortable. "And 177 centimeters tall, am I correct?"

"You have a good eye, old man. That's right."

The old man ceased his circling and began to walk back to his counter, waving a hand behind him. "No suit for you, young man. Go home."

"What?" Sanji yelled. "Why? Got a height limit or something, what the fuck old man?"

The tailor sat down back on his chair and picked him his needle and began to sew once again. "Nope, but I'm not making you a suit, go home."

"Fine," Sanji said, and then he muttered a few curses under his breath that he was sure the old tailor could probably hear regardless. "Could you at least tell me where another shop is where somebody will actually give me some service?"

The tailor shook his head. "You can't get a suit anywhere in town, not for you. I'll say it again, go home."

Sanji was about to turn and leave in a huff, appalled by the man's rude behavior, when something caught his eye hanging on the rack behind the tailor's counter. It was a blue dress shirt and appeared to be about just his size. Even more so, it was the perfect shade of blue to match his eyes. "What about that shirt, old man?" He pointed at the one he was looking at. "You don't have to make me anything, but I'll buy that off of your hands if you'd let me."

The man followed the trajectory of Sanji's finger, and then shook his head once more. "No, somebody already bought that shirt, it's custom made. You can't buy it."

"Not for me, right?" Sanji said, echoing the man's previously words.

The tailor paused in his stitching and pulled the needle back, his face frozen in contemplation. "Not for you to buy," he finally said, before resuming his sewing. But Sanji was too observant to let that fly, for he had caught how the man had rephrased his answer carefully.

"Not for me to buy," Sanji repeated, "But perhaps for me?" Could it be that his dear, sweet, thoughtful Nami-swan had already bought that shirt for him. How sweet of her, how thoughtful! Just the image of her giving him a gift, a gift he could not deserve from such a angel, made him swoon in excitement.

"Perhaps," the tailor responded. He noticed the giddy expression on Sanji's face. "Oh ho," he murmured. "So you're in love with somebody?"

"None of your business, old man," Sanji said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and beginning to pack them against the palm of his left hand.

"I suppose not," the tailor responded. "But I must say, you are a lucky young man. The one who loves you, whether you know it or not, is quite the keeper."

Sanji scuffed the toe of his loafers against the tiled floor. "Have you buying eyeing my sweet, dear, Nami-swan, you shitty old man? I'll make you eat those perverted words!"

"Nami?" The tailor laughed, an dry cackle that seemed to oddly suit him. "I don't know anybody by that name. Women don't come into this store. I do suits. Suits for men, only. I'm no good at female tailoring."

"Nami didn't buy me that shirt?" Sanji asked, confused.

The tailor scoffed. "No," he responded. He gestured to Sanji's face. "You might want to try getting the hair out of your one eye, it seems to be blinding you to the truth that's right in front of you."

Sanji growled menacingly. "Don't you speak in riddles to me," he threatened. The tailor did not react at all to this statement, and actually began to hum as he continued to sew. Sanji moved past him and went to the rack, where he grabbed the cuff of the blue shirt in question. It was made from a strong, flexible fabric. He rubbed it between his two fingers experimentally.

"So this shirt is for me?" Sanij asked.

"Yes."

"And Nami didn't buy it?"

"No."

"Then who did?"

The old man looked at Sanji from under his furrowed gray eyebrows. "I'm assuming it was meant to be a surprise gift. I'm not about to betray my customer's trust, I'm sure you can respect that."

"I guess," Sanji responded softly. "But it still pisses me off. I want to know."

The tailor pointed his needle at Sanji. "Patience, young man. All good things come with time. And an open mind doesn't hurt, either."

An open mind? Sanji suffered his fair share of having an open mind lately, taking in the news of Zoro's sexuality in stride and also momentarily reliving the past from his childhood that he was more inclined to forget than rehash with the shitty swordsman. He didn't know if he was prepared to be any more open minded than that.

"Now go home," the tailor said. "I have a lot of work to do before tomorrow, and I don't need any distractions."

Sanji did not say goodbye to the tailor as he left the shop, letting the bell jangle behind him. The sun had gone down by now, and the streets were rather dark at this hour, except for a few misplaced lanterns. He felt slightly frustrated in the knowledge that he had come all the way here and had to return empty-handed, but even more so he was consumed with thoughts of who could have possibly bought him that shirt. After all, the tailor had said he was lucky to be loved by the one who loved him. So this gift was obviously some move at romanticism.

Although Sanji often swooned over the ladies and dreamed of being their knight in shining armor, he had never considered starting a romantic relationship out here on his adventures at sea. He had never considered the deeper feelings that came after such mundane flirting and favors. The cook was not at all adverse to romantic advances, far from it, but the hectic nature of his life was not conducive to falling in love.

He recalled briefly the conversation he had shared with the marimo a few nights ago, when he had asked the man if, in his life from that alternate universe, if it was even real, if Sanji had somebody special in his life. The swordsman had responded with honesty that he did have somebody. Ever since then, he had been thinking often of a faceless person that he could spend the rest of his life with, and oddly enough, in his daydreams, it was not the person that he often expected.

This nameless and faceless fantasy person was strong, and supportive, rather than a fragile and gentle woman. This person would offset Sanji's spirit of the sea with unshakeable foundations and deep roots, an devoted and honorable soul full of raw power and instilled with a sense of duty. But this person did not exist, as far as Sanji was aware, at least not in this world.

_Whiz._

The cook all the sudden found himself flush to the pavement, for he had reacted to an attack without even processing it at thought level. The dart that had been shot at him passed overhead, where the cook had been only half a second before. His eyes followed the line of the shot, getting up but still crouching low until he located the sniper.

There, on top of the roof of a butcher's shop. The shooter had already ducked out of direct sight, but Sanji could spot the faintest outline of a moving shadow. He did not have time to pursue the attacker, though, because he had to raise in leg to meet the flying fists of another man. As he stopped the fists and delivered a blow to the man's thick neck, he felt another approach from behind, this one a swordsman. Spinning to meet him, he stopped the man's blade with the thick soles of his shoes, but as he did, his leg shook, just in the most minute amount, from it's usual ramrod steel. His stength was already waning.

"You again?" Sanji asked of the man brandishing his sword. It was the same man he had dislocated the jaw of not too long ago, the bounty hunter that had slashed his back when Sanji left himself open to save Zoro.

The bounty hunter grinned, and Sanji noticed with satisfaction that he was missing quite a few more teeth than last time he saw him. "How's that back wound treating you?"

"You call that a wound?" Sanji asked, parrying his thrust and landing a blow the man's side. It was weak, though, and the man slid across the pavement, but after gritting his teeth, remained standing. "You'll have to give me more than a paper cut to keep me down!"

The problem was that this was a lie, Sanji realized as he blocked the man's fast-moving slashes and again had to turn to face another opponent, as well as the man who had come at him punching that was back up. His back wound was no paper cut, and he could feel the stitched shut skin stretching painfully with each of his moves, sending a white hot strike of pain across his body every time he lifted his leg too high or kicked too hard. Soon his wound would reopen, and he would surely go down. He had to take out these guys before that.

Sanji took a leap in the air to get some extra momentum, and came down with skull-cracking speed on one attacker, then quickly switched positions to continue the force of the blow to hit the next man upside the head. The flexibility it required to switch positions, though, stung something awful down his spine, and he felt just the lightest trickle of blood leak from the edge of his wound. It would only take one more foolishly planned attack to open it up.

Planning his move carefully, Sanji faced the man with the saber who had caused him all this unnecessary grief and discomfort. "I'm going to make sure you never come back for me," Sanji growled, raising his one knee off the ground, poising himself to launch an attack that would not fail.

The man stuck his saber in the ground and leaned on it, as if too tired to go on, but he was not out of breath nor bleeding. He was wheezing with laughter instead. "Oh, don't worry, Blackleg, I'll never have to."

_Whiz_.

Sanji actually heard it this time. Heard it, and went to hit the ground again to evade the dart. But his back seized up, his muscles so intent on the attack tensed and froze up, unwilling to obey their master. And thus the dart met its mark truly, embedded the needle deep into the artery of Sanji's neck.

The cook reached up and felt the feathered end of the dart before ripping it out. "What...?" he asked. "A tranquilizer?"

The man with the sword was approaching him now, completely at ease, his blade already sheathed, and Sanji realized that was because he was unable to move any longer. His vision of the man doubled for a moment, his vision blurred, and he stumbled, but remained upright.

"Sorry about that," the bounty hunter said, "but we didn't want you ruining that pretty body of yours, did we, Blackleg, for your master?"

"Master?" Sanji croaked out. "You guys are bounty hunters."

"Yes and no," the man responded. "But where you're going, you will wish that we were."

That was the last thing Sanji heard before his vision went black and his strength failed him.

ZOSAN

His shoulder was shaking. "Get off," he grunted, but the person was not deterred.

"Oi, oi, Zoro," the voice begged. "Come on, Zoro, get up, please?"

It was most definitely Usopp. He rolled over in his cot, the first night in a while he had actually hit the pillow and gone straight to sleep, and rolled his eyes blearily, letting a loud yawn escape. "What."

"It's Sanji," Usopp said.

"Okay," Zoro grunted. "What about the cook?"

"He's missing."

Zoro groaned. He pulled back at his covers and laid down again, throwing a pillow over his head. "He's probably in the galley, stupid, so stop bothering me and go back to bed."

"He's not!" Usopp insisting. "He told me he was heading to town for a bit after dinner and he never came back!"

The swordsman swatted Usopp's hand aside, for it had begun to shake his shoulder again. "I'm sure that bastard can take care of himself." He heard Usopp stutter in response to this, his hands still hovering over Zoro's body, as if timid to try to keep him awake but too scared to rest. Zoro rolled over and looked his crew mate in the eye, placing his rough callused hand atop Usopp's, steadying it in its shaking.

"Look, why don't you tell Luffy if you are so worried?" Zoro asked the sniper.

Usopp whined pathetically. "He said the same thing you did, that Sanji could take care of himself."

"Well, because he's right," Zoro responded. "He probably got trashed at a bar or got roped into helping some women in distress. He'll be back to cook us breakfast, I guarantee it."

"Okay," Usopp said softly, removing his hand from underneath Zoro's. "I guess I was overreacted, right?"

"You could say that again," Zoro grumbled, finally rolling back over. He listened as Usopp climbed into his own bunk, making sure the younger man actually went to bed, before allowing himself to drift back to sleep. The swordsman was sure Sanji would be back to cook the crew breakfast. The blond never missed serving the crew a meal, especially the most important meal of the day. Come hell or high water, Sanji would be there.

ZOSAN

For some reason Zoro had woken up early, before any of the other men. He lifted the pillow from where he had thrown it over his face last night and wiped a bit of drool that was still dripping down his mouth. He glanced around the room at Franky hanging out of his bunk, Luffy haphazard in his, Usopp curled in a ball, Brook's long legs sticking out the end, and Chopper a barely visible ball of fluff. Sanji's bunk was not slept in. The sheets were not ruffled, and, as Zoro got up and pressed a hand to the pillow, he felt its distinct lack of warmth.

He scoffed. "So the cook stayed out all night, eh?" A little peeved, but not completely shocked - after all, the cook had done far worse in his younger days to Zoro's knowledge - he headed up the gym and began a little pre-breakfast work out.

Zoro lifted weights and practiced sword thrusts and did push ups until the sun that was leaking into the nest when he arrived had now moved a considerable distance across the floor. He felt his stomach grumble and was suddenly reminded that it was probably breakfast time...no, he looked at the sun, it was way passed the time that Sanji usually served breakfast, even on quiet and relaxing days such as this.

He quickly wiped himself down and threw his shirt back on, leaping down from the nest to the deck below, where most of the crew was already awake and gathered. There was Brook and Chopper and Nami and Franky. Chopper was nervously passing, while Brook was restringing his violin and Franky and Nami talked in relatively low tones, considering their normal level of volume.

"What's up?" Zoro asked.

Nami glanced up. "Oh, Sanji apparently never came back last night, so Luffy and Usopp and Robin went out to look for him in town." She smiled weakly. "It shouldn't be long before they find him with Robin's abilities."

Zoro nodded, recalled the woman could grow eyes and ears as well as extra arms and hands wherever she so pleased. "Damn cook, and I'm hungry," he said.

"Well, he shouldn't be up cooking and going to town and everything until his wound is fully closed anyway!" Chopper insisted, still pacing. "I just have a bad feeling about this, like some weird instinct, I don't know..."

Franky placed his large hand on top of Chopper hat and head, rubbing it affectionately. "Chill out, little bro, our cook-bro probably just got invited to a lady's place, if you catch my drift..."

"Yohohoho!" Brook laughed. "How lucky Sanji-san would be if this were so!"

Zoro turned his face so nobody could see him scowl. He was used to watching Sanji flirt with women of all shapes and sizes at the drop of a dime, and it never bothered him or invited jealously, but to consider the blond actually engaging in more serious acts with these women... it nearly brought his blood to its boiling point.

"Oi!" a voice called from the shore near the Sunny. The members still aboard the ship ran to the side, looking down at Luffy who was waving up at them. He pointed at the mini den den mushi on his wrist. "Usopp called and said he figured out where Sanji is, but then I accidentally hung up and now the stupid den den mushi won't talk to me!"

_And this is why we don't use living phones in the real world_, Zoro thought to himself, ducking out of the way as his captain grabbed the railing and propelled himself on to the ship. Nami ripped the den den mushi off of his wrist and quickly contacted the one they had given to Usopp.

"Usopp!" she said into the receiver. "Sorry about that, Luffy's a fucking idiot, so what's going on? Are you coming back with Sanji?"

"It's me, Navigator-san," the cool voice of Nico Robin returned from the den den mushi's mouth. It had a rather serious expression. "Long nose-kun is rather indisposed in his panic and worry." She paused, and then added, "And yes, we are returning, but without Cook-san."

"Why?" Nami asked.

"Is he going food shopping?" Luffy inquired, a bit of drool leaking out of his mouth. Zoro forcibly shut the rubber man's mouth for him after a bit of saliva dripped on his shoe.

"No," Robin replied. "He is not going food shopping. If anything, he may be the one being shopped right now."

The rest of the crew looked up from the den den mushi and glanced at each other. Every single one of them shrugged, before Franky gave an impatient nudge to Nami who asked, "I'm sorry, Robin, we don't understand. What do you mean?"

"It seems," Robin began, "that our cook has been abducted."

"What?" Chopper squealed.

"How?" Nami insisted.

"Who?" Luffy asked, and Zoro could already hear the creak of his knuckles as they prepared to be cracked first against each other and then against their enemies' skulls.

"That's the complicated part," Robin explained. "We could not spot the cook anywhere, but I overheard two injured men discussing him. I called Long Nose-kun, and he went over to talk to them. We met up there together."

Usopp obviously snatched the receive, because the facial expression of the den den mushi changed. It was sweating and shaking violently. "They said they helped that bounty hunter that attacked you guys, Zoro!" he exclaimed. "They said they didn't know who the hunter was working for, but he wasn't interested in Sanji's bounty anymore!"

"What else could they want from Sanji-san?" Brook asked.

"Something about selling him as a slave!" After the den den mushi relayed these words, it began to cry, or rather, it seemed that it was transferring the wild concern that was feeding through from the other line.

The rest of the crew were far from silent at this news. Nami had her hands over her mouth, trying to contain a gasp, Chopper had broken down, and Luffy was yelling in a voice that expressed more rage and warning than most battle cries. But it was Zoro's voice that cut through them all and sent them into silence.

"You still have _slaves _here?" he demanded.

"They are rare, swordsman-san," a voice responded from behind him. Robin was climbing over the edge on to the deck, a shaking Usopp behind her. It appeared they were running on their way here whilst on the phone. "But more so in this area, yes, near Mariejois and the Human Auction Shop of Sabaody Archipelago."

"But that sounds stupid," Franky said, scratching his chin with his thick fingers. "The cook-bro has a super bounty, so why would they sell him as a slave. Male humans like him don't go for that much, not even giants go for that much."

Robin shook her head ruefully. "That's where speculation comes in." She pursed her lips and looked down at Chopper. "Perhaps you should go and calm down elsewhere, Doctor-san."

"Why?" Chopper asked, wiping tears from his eyes.

But Zoro understood why. Robin was very protective over the young, cute doctor, and whatever Robin was going to say was going to unduly upset the reindeer, more than he already was. That meant that whatever it was, it must be bad, because Robin freely talked about the bloody fates of her friends and human remains over tea time, so whatever Robin deemed inappropriate for the doctor was something that Zoro was unsure if he wanted to even stomach himself.

"Robin, I think he can hear this," Usopp said unsteadily. "I mean, if he's old enough to die fighting for Sanji, then I think he's old enough to hear this."

Luffy nodded in response to his crew mate's words. "Let him stay. What's up, Robin?"

Robin looked displeased but completely respected her captain's decision. "My concern is that Sanji wasn't taken publicly, but rather he was taken privately. Likewise, my knowledge of the sale prices of slaves is...rather well studied. In it, I have come across the facts of the existence of underground, private slave trading, in which some of the richer nobles from Mariejois will spend more than the amount of cook-san's bounty for... a male escort."

Nami sucked in air through her teeth, but otherwise, nobody else reacted. Eventually, Luffy filled the silence.

"Well, I don't understand," he said simply. "Let's just figure out who to beat up and get to it!" He slammed his fists together.

"That's the issue, Captain-san," Robin said softly. "Our informants told us that they already transferred off Sanji to someone else, who was to bring him to elsewhere on the island, under the care of the slave traders." Her eyes narrowed. "They were unable to tell us the names of the traders, even under some _persuasive_ measures."

Meanwhile, Zoro was listening to the conversation and game plan, as Nami began to discuss breaking into groups to search the island for the slave trader's base, and how to free Sanji, and on and on. But he could not focus on the exact words. Everything seemed to be swimming by in front of him, drowned out by the horror that gripped his heart, louder than blood pounding in one's own ears. He had thought seeing Sanji wounded was terrifying, seeing Sanji thin and weak, seeing Sanji who didn't love him in return, or even considering Sanji laying with another women.

But _male escort_ was not a phrase, however carefully and politely worded, that was going to pass over Zoro's head. And of course they had chosen Sanji, because he was the Aryan dream of a perfect man, with the perfect figure and features, and could he blame the sick slave traders, because it was the same body that Zoro found wildly attractive himself. But this wasn't another woman or even another man loving Sanji the way that Zoro had always loved him. It wasn't somebody who would appreciate the man's personality, even if it was just the shallow bit that they uncovered over a couple of drinks at a late night bar. It was brutal, disgusting, carnal _rape_.

By this point, he had lost track of who was teaming with who and which team was going where, but he was sure that somebody would push him in the right direction. Right now, the swordsman had a one-track mind, as he walked to his Captain, who was bobbing about, as impatient as his first mate. Zoro felt his arms were stiff at his own sides and that his gait was unnatural, but he was so overcome with a fierce _need _to get Sanji safe _now_, thatit was difficult to not start slicing through things right then and there.

"Captain," he said. He had trouble recognizing his own voice. It was low and dangerous and had the hint of an animalistic growl around the edges, as if the demon within him was bursting at the bit to come out.

Luffy looked at him with shockingly empty eyes. "Yeah, Zoro?"

"Requesting your permission to kill any and every man who laid their hands on him."

The rubber man studied him for a second blankly, and then he made an irritating whining noise, his hands dropping at his sides. "Aw, and I wanted to do it," he pouted. Then he straightened out a bit and met Zoro's eye, "But yeah, you need it more than I do."

"Thank you, Captain," Zoro replied shortly. Luffy may have replied, but he didn't hear it. His eyes were already fixated on the horizon, ready to meet it, because out there there was some pervert running their filthy fingers down what once belonged to Zoro and what he planned to make his again.

And it didn't really need to be said, but Roronoa Zoro was not the sharing type.

_A/N: Sorry about the random Sanji point of view thing, but it was the only way I could really get out what I wanted to. I wanted you to see how he was captured and such, since I thought it was important to his character that he didn't just like.. fail. Since I think Sanji is awesome, and badass as anything._

_Oh, and it looks like their date is cancelled. You didn't really think they'd go on a date, did you? Silly geese, the lot of you! =]_

_So, read and review and I'll try to have the next chapter out soon. Love you all so, so, so very much, you make my day!_


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece. If I did, every time the Heart Pirates arrived, there would be background music of "Yellow Submarine" by the Beatles, no matter how serious the situation, because yellow submarines are always bad ass.**

"_Fuck you, Zoro. You are so fucking dumb. You don't have a wife."_

"_Then what's the wedding ring for, bastard?"_

_Sanji fell back, resting himself on the heels of his feet. "For your husband."_

Zoro couldn't breath the way his throat was constricted. He suddenly felt very aware of the fact that he was completely naked, which humility was never a thing that had bothered him overtly before. But in this moment, he felt so ashamed of his own actions that he only wanted to cover up his body. In spite of this, he couldn't seem to bring his hands to move from where they hung limply at his side.

"So I am married," he whispered in awe. "And I...I..." he ground his fists into the side of his temples, trying to push his thoughts into coherent words. "I-I-I fucking... fucking betrayed him."

In response to his words, Sanji did what Zoro was tempted to do in this moment: he screamed, falling back to kneel on the bed and letting out the most monstrous roar at the ceiling. Zoro watched, wide-eyed, as the man in front of him lost control. The cook jumped from the bed and strode quickly to the closet and neatly ripped the door off the hinges.

As Zoro hastily pulled his boxers back on, Sanji reemerged from the closet with a box in his hands, which he flung down at the floor in front of his own feet, allowing all the things inside of it to fly out and scatter. He bent down and starting digging through the items desperately, and vaguely the swordsman wondered if he was looking for a gun with which to silence Zoro.

Instead, Sanji pulled out the gold band that had been haunting Zoro for the past few days and he flung it at the swordsman who caught in reflexively in his hand. He looked down at it in his palm but did not put it on his finger.

"Have it," Sanji growled. "If it means that much to you. Have it without understanding what it means..." He took a few calming, shaky breaths, and realization felt like a bullet in Zoro's heart. Sanji's eyes were red rimmed and his shoulders were shaking. He was...crying? Could the cook really cry?

"Oi, Sanji," Zoro coaxed the man forward from the floor, but it didn't seem like the cook was about to move any closer. "I didn't know you felt this way, but," he looked down at his ring. "I can't...I have a responsibility to somebody else..."

"Stop saying it's a responsibility," Sanji said brokenly. He raised his thin arms and wrapped them around his own frame. "I can't stand it when you say that."

"But -"

Sanji cut off any words Zoro was about to say with a vicious shake of his head. Zoro could not see the man's face, but he could see the wetness that dripped down from his cheeks to the carpet below. "Please, stop, let me put your mind at rest. You never betrayed anybody."

"How?" Zoro questioned. "Did he...is my husband...is he dead?"

Again, the cook shook his head. "No, he's right here."

_What?_

"My name is Sanji Roronoa, Zoro, understand?" The cook looked up, his watery eyes shining from the sunlight spilling in the curtains. "Three years ago, _you _married _me_. I was...am...I don't know...your husband."

This time, Zoro said it aloud: "What?"

Sanji apparently knew it wasn't actually a question, and more a tone of disbelief. His hands, which Zoro had never seen falter, were shaking as they picked up the discarded items on the ground, which he later noticed were paper clippings and documents and photographs. And even more importantly, there was something that Zoro could not believe he had not noticed before. It was as plain as day, and now that he thought back, it had never been any different since he woke up here.

A thin gold band on Sanji's finger, the exact same as the one in Zoro's hand. A wedding ring, on the left hand, on the hand of a man named _Sanji Roronoa_. The swordsman had no idea what to do. He had been adjusting to the thought that he had a significant other, one that he must be having problems with to be staying with Sanji, but he had never considered that this person would be somebody he already knew, and even more so, that this person would be Sanji.

He briefly recalled that just moments ago he had engaged in sexual acts with the man, so it couldn't seem that far-fetched, but the worlds of difference between a rash sexual encounter and _marriage _was just too far of a gap for Zoro to comprehend. The swordsman knew that Sanji was an attractive male, with a lithe and rakish figure, a toned body and perfect legs, as well as golden hair and blue eyes, and thus he could imagine that they had a handful of frustrated sexual interactions when emotions and hormones ran high. But marriage meant love, a deep and sensual and committed love, and involved all sorts of things that Zoro knew nothing about, like buying gifts and going on dates and intimacy and sweet nothings.

For the first time in a long time, a fear began to grip Zoro's heart. It was the fear of certainty, a black hand clenching his ribcage tighter and tighter, setting over him the knowledge that perhaps there was a duty that he was not able to fulfill. Perhaps he would have to go back on his honor. After all, there was no way that Zoro knew how to be a proper husband, let alone to another man, let alone to a man named Sanji, the stupid, emotional, perverted shit cook.

Sanji sat down on the floor, pulling the box of keepsakes into his lap, where he had finally collected everything that had been scattered. The man had also ceased his heavy breathing, and although his eyes were still red, he was no longer crying. "Stop worrying about it, would you?" he asked Zoro. "Your face looks stupid when you're all concerned like that."

The swordsman stared at him from atop the bed, looking at him as though surprised that he was still here. Then, smoothing his face and taking a few meditative deep breaths, Zoro prepared himself for what he was honor bound to say, no matter ho much it may strangle whatever pride he had left. He bowed his head in Sanji's direction as he said, "Sanji, I..." he looked up and met the cook's eyes, mustering all of his courage to do so. "I am sorry. I do not know if I can give you what you want."

"I figured you would say that," Sanji replied. He rubbed his bare feet with the pads of his thumbs as he thought. "I guess it was to good to be true, anyway, the way you've spoiled me over the years..." he sighed, and again his breath was shaking. Zoro was compelled to turn and run for the hills once again. All this open emotion between the two of them was grating on the strong and stoic facade that he had maintained his entire life.

Even more so, Zoro could not handle the guilt that was laying like a heavy stone in his stomach. Every time Sanji threatened to break apart and cry, Zoro was reminded of the very few times in his life that he had cried, often regarding his promise and duty to Kuina, and how he had suffered setbacks in that vow, by Kuina's death and then by his loss to Hawkeye. At first he could not comprehend the cook's tears, who he had only seen cry in actual emotion once, when leaving the Baratie. But then Zoro realized that if he was truly married to Sanji, then Zoro had fallen through on a vow, and Sanji was desperately trying to keep a dead promise alive. When he had to reveal this loss to Zoro and acknowledge to verbally... yes, Zoro could understand the cook's tears, and that's when the guilt set in.

"Why don't you get off the floor, Sanji?" Zoro asked. With shaking legs, Sanji complied, standing and stumbling to fall on the mattress, laying out beside where Zoro was sitting, an arm over his eyes and clearly exhausted by the entire ordeal.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Sanji whispered hoarsely to Zoro. "I know you want answers right now, but..." his voice caught in his throat and a dry sob ripped from his chest. Zoro's hands hovered nervously over the cook, wanting to make this stop but unsure of how or where to touch the cook.

And that was when the door to the bedroom flung open. Standing in the doorway was Ace, and Zoro realized that he had probably left less than an hour ago, but it had felt like ages since he had seen the man, since so much had changed. Ace stood in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob, and his eyes moved from Zoro sitting there helplessly and foolishly, to the silently weeping figure of the cook laying beside him.

"Sorry," the older man said softly. "I heard noises, I was concerned." He met Zoro's eyes. "So he told you?" he asked.

Zoro nodded. Sanji did not move from his position, but he choked out the words, "Ace?"

"Yeah, it's me, Sanji," Ace replied, walking in to the room. He sat on the edge of the bed next to Sanji, which made the strong and fearsome man look oddly motherly.

"Fuck," Sanji cursed, clenching his hand over his face, trying to stopper his tears. "Just give a second, don't mind me, fuck, fuck, fuck..."

Ace looked up at Zoro and pointed his thumb out the door. "Go make tea," he ordered. Zoro just got up blindly and walked slowly to the doorway, eternally grateful to be saved from this awkward situation. He could not wait to get out of the room.

In spite of this, he hovered in the doorway for a second before closing the door behind him, watching as Ace reached up and ran his thick, callused hand through Sanji hair, and as he did so, Sanji completely lost control, letting sobs rack through his entire frame. The sounds of his sobs were swallowed by his pride, but right before Zoro left the two of them alone, Sanji asked, in a pained, keening voice, "I swear I could take any other kind of pain, but I can't do it without him..." He gasped sharply three times before he said, "I can't loose him, Ace."

Zoro shut the door behind him. He couldn't witness anymore. He felt like he violated the cook, as though he had watched the man masturbate or so some other defiling act.

As Zoro shut the door, the sounds of the hushed conversation and unleashed emotions in the bedroom were completely muffled. He walked aimlessly down the hallway to the kitchen and living room, and paused as he reached the threshold.

The swordsman was surprised, for he had completely forgotten about the other man, but the friend named Marco was sitting on the couch, the foot from his right leg resting on his left knee, a newspaper open and spread across his lap. He had reading glasses on, and it was so unusual, seeing as the man had probably just washed a pint of blood off his hands, that Zoro nearly laughed. But he bit the inside of his cheek and went to shove his hands in his pockets when he realized he was still only in his boxers.

"Oh," Zoro said, looking down at himself, slightly taken aback.

The man named Marco snorted. "Don't worry about, I'm not offended, Zoro." He set down his newspaper but left his glasses on, pushing them down to the tip of his nose to get a better look at Zoro. "I already put the kettle on," he said, "So why don't you sit down?"

Zoro stiffly made his way to the couch and sat down, looking at Marco expectantly.

"I made some phone calls," Marco started. A feeling of dread rose up in the swordsman's chest - was this going to be more talk about emotions? But then Marco continued, saying, "And a came across an old contact who knew where the base of Disco's operation is, or at least where they do the actually selling. The events are held once a season, and it looks like one is coming up in a little over a week from today."

Marco uncrossed his legs and rubbed his hands together. He seemed excited by the prospect of a large human auction of poor, captured young women and children. Or perhaps, Zoro realized, he was more excited to snap some spines in two.

"And it's not held anywhere in the city," Marco added. "Nor somewhere we can fly to. It's on a private cruise liner that is leaving from Elizabeth, New Jersey in ten days. We'll have to either sneak aboard at departure or somehow procure a boat and raid the ship. If we wait until they dock, which is off the coast of Saint Kitts, then we risk the chance of them catching word of us, and also any of the victims on board would already be unduly damaged."

Marco sighed and finally took off his glasses, folding them and setting them on the table in front of him. "I'm no knight in armor, and I won't pretend to be, but if I'm going to be cutting down these men anyway, I'd like to do it before their sick hands touch some twelve year old girl, feel me?" He glanced at Zoro, and Zoro nodded.

"I'm on board with you," the swordsman added verbally. "I just can't believe you'd go this far to help me out."

"Well," Marco leaned back in his seat, folding his hands behind his head. "There are conditions."

"Like what?" Zoro asked. There was always a catch.

"You have to swear to never work an assassin job again." He folded his hands in front of him. "I've talked to Ace about it, and he said that had had offered you a job teaching classes at the dojo a while ago. It's a nice, steady job and you'll be better off that way."

Zoro's brow furrowed. "But...I don't even know you, why do you care?"

"I don't care, yoi," Marco answered honestly. "But I care about Ace and his brothers, and if you are one day asked to go after them for a job -"

"I would never do that."

Marco silenced him with a commanding hand. "Regardless, it'd be a mess. You'd have to run for it, and so would they. I like having my best friend Ace nearby, and I don't want to have to see him take off to some other country thousands of miles away." He held out his hand. "So you'll come with me, we'll clean this up, and you'll live a quiet life from now on, Zoro?"

Zoro looked down at the hand. He made no move to accept it. Marco did not lower his arm, but he added, "Well, as quiet as you can. I'm not about to ask a swordsman to put away his katanas and grow old and fat. But if you won't do it for the sake of Ace and his brothers, will you at least do it for the sake of your husband?"

His husband, Sanji. He had just met Marco today, although it seemed that Sanji knew the man. So although Marco was aware Zoro and Sanji were married, he was probably not aware of the fact that Zoro was rather uninformed of his recent situation. It was a bit shocking, but Zoro oddly appreciated this wake up call. Marco was treating him like a solid man who knew where he stood in his life, and felt no need to lie or tiptoe around him.

"I think..." Zoro said, grasping Marco's hand. "That the shit cook deserves that much from me." Still gripping his hand, he added, "But I'm still cutting down any asshole who hurts my friends."

Marco grinned. "I would expect no less from what I've heard of you." He pumped their hands vigorously and then let go.

As their deal came to a close, the kettle on the stove began to let out a high pitched whistle. Zoro rose and searched around in the cabinets until he found cups and saucers. "Want some?" he asked Marco from across the room.

The man nodded, already back to reading the paper. "One sugar, please." Zoro obeyed and brought the cup over to the man, and then went and prepared three more, one for Ace with honey, one for Sanji with some two sugars and the lightest dab of milk, and plain for him. He picked up the two steaming cups he had made for his Ace and Sanji and looked down the dark hall toward where the bedroom was.

Was it possible that he could do this? After all, wasn't this the things a doting husband would do, fixing tea for his lover when he was upset? It wasn't like he was disgusted by Sanji's body, in fact, he had been quite aroused by it moments ago. And even more so, he respected the cook deeply - there was nobody he respected more excepting, perhaps, his captain. Sanji was, like him, a man of honor and was true to his word. He was strong and so much like Zoro in their bickering, and yet so much more different from him in other respects. He was prissy, yes, and flirted with women in the most nauseating way. But there was something about him, something about those _eyes_, that spoke volumes of a deeper soul that Zoro had never considered.

Those eyes spoke to Zoro of freedom, of a spirit that allowed the world to take him where the mind may wish, and they were the eyes of a man who would bear a thousand storms as long as he could continue living free. It was foreign to Zoro, who was a man of foundations and destinations. And yet, it intrigued him on some deep, integral level of his soul. There was a word for what he thought of Sanji when he looked in his eyes, and he felt almost amiss to think it, but it was..._beautiful_.

Yes, Zoro was afraid. He was fucking terrified. He had never felt the sharp sting of love nor the ache of longing for another human being, at least not in the romantic sense. He was a man who, like he exampled in Thriller Bark, showed his affection for others with actions, actions done behind the scenes. Zoro did not know any fancy words to say and he certainly couldn't recall the last time he had embraced somebody...

Yet he couldn't help thinking that perhaps it was not impossible. After all, he must have done it before, as Sanji, a true romantic at heart, had married him. And although he did not feel that way right now, didn't he at least owe it to the cook to give it a shot, to see if he could fall in love with him again? Didn't he owe it to the cook to try to learn to be a proper husband?

Zoro looked down at the tea in his hand. He had made tea for Sanji, even remembered to make it the way the cook liked it. So maybe...maybe he wasn't a lost cause. But he sure as hell was going to have to swallow his pride and ask for a lot of help, because besides making tea, he had no idea where to go from here.

The bedroom, the swordsman decided, was his bet bet, though. He made sure to walk steadily, not spilling any tea, and raised his knuckles to lightly rap on the door.

Ace opened, and he immediately took his cup from Zoro's right hand, where the man was trying to balance it. "Want to talk to him alone?" Ace asked.

Zoro nodded, and the older man slipped out of the bedroom and left the couple together. The swordsman closed to door as he stepped inside, looking at Sanji, whose face was puffy, but had otherwise calmed down. He did not look up as Zoro came inside and sat down on the bed as Ace had, but merely picked at the sheets that were on his legs with his fingernails, as if he was concerned more with their threading then the arrival of the swordsman.

"Your tea," Zoro said, handing him the cup. Sanji's hands opened and he took the cup, but did not raise it to his mouth to drink.

"I can't imagine what you must be thinking," Sanji rasped. "Seeing me like that, you must think I'm so weak."

"Weak?" Zoro echoed. "No."

Sanji's hand just twitched his his lap, but he did not reply.

"Besides, Luffy cries a hell of a lot more than you do, and he's probably one of the strongest men I know." Zoro ran a hand through his green hair. "Uh...how do I say this? Weak men cry, but I don't think that crying is a sign of weakness. It's like...uh...it's like getting a cut, and then you bleed. It doesn't mean you are weak as long as you keep fighting."

"Of course you'd relate it to cutting cut," Sanji murmured, but his lips did pull up at this metaphor just the tiniest bit. He raised the cup to his lips and took a small sip. Then another, deeper one, this time looked up at Zoro in surprise as you did so.

"Is it okay?" Zoro asked, sounding for all the world like a nervous school girl. He wanted to hit himself.

"Just the way I like it," Sanji replied. "Guess we never had a shortage of tea on the high seas, eh, Pirate Zoro?"

Zoro shook his head. "No, you were very good about keeping copious stores of everything. We never faced danger of starving, even with Luffy's appetite." He grimaced. "And you making stupid snacks for Robin and Nami all the time."

Sanji chuckled. "Jealous, shitty swordsman?"

Usually, Zoro would respond with a barbaric sounding grunt before challenging the cook to fight to that, but considering the changed dynamic in their relationship, he figured it would be more fun to play along. "Should I be, love cook?"

At this, Sanji let out a full laugh. "I'd like to say yes," he said, "But that would be the biggest lie. I will always love to dote on beautiful ladies like Robin-chwan and Nami-swan, but..." he tentatively reached out a hand and placed it atop of Zoro's. Zoro did not grasp the man's hand in return, but he also did not pull away. "But I realized that I needed a lover in my life who was strong and sure as steel."

_You_. The word went unspoken but yet Zoro could feel it reverberate around the room. He fought the urge to shiver.

"I made a deal with Marco," the swordsman said, changing the topic rapidly. "In about ten days there will be a gathering of the higher ups who sent that thug there. We're going to take them out together, and then I'll turn my back on the business for good."

Sanji looked up from his tea, which he was still grasping in two hands as if he was trying to warm his fingers with it. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Zoro replied. "What with Luffy and his brothers being in the business they are, it's a miracle it hasn't blown up in my face already. Besides, I don't know what I was saving sure, but I'm sure we'll manage to get by no matter what."

"We?" Sanji asked. His face was scrunched up in so much confusion that Zoro would have thought he had spoken in a different language for a moment there. Yet he knew what the cook was implying, and he had planned out this answer beforehand.

"Yes, we," he reiterated. "You didn't think I was going anywhere, did you?" This time, he reached out and grabbed Sanji's hand that had fallen from holding his cup, and he clasped it in his own, holding down gently. "I...I don't really know what the hell I'm doing, I'll be honest, but if you're willing to let me try, I want to give it a shot." He found himself staring at where he held the cook's hand in his own, lightly playing with the other man's fingers. It felt oddly natural and calming. "I won't lie and say that I understand this or anything, but I wanna give it some time, does that make sense?"

Sanji didn't respond. He set down his tea cup on the beside counter and fumbled for his cigarettes, but when he opened his pack and found it empty, he just dropped it and placed both his hands in his lap again. Zoro was very sure that he had said something wrong. He was awful at this shit, wasn't he?

"So...um..." Zoro was beginning to feel uncomfortable perched on the side of the bed. "What would I usually do now?"

The cook shrugged. "I don't know, you can be unpredictable." He chewed on his bottom lip, and then finally raised his raise and met Zoro's eyes. "I guess you'd hold me. But you don't have to, if it's weird. I don't want it to be weird."

Zoro shrugged. "It's weird, but whatever." He climbed on to the bed beside the cook and opened his legs, and then experimentally reached out and pulled Sanji in between them, wrapping the man's smaller frame in his muscled, tanned arms. For a second, the blond man was tense, but then every bone in his body seemed to melt into Zoro, as he leaned back against the swordsman's bare chest, throwing his head back to rest on the man's shoulder.

"Like this?" Zoro asked hesitantly.

The cook made a noise that was akin to a cat's purr of satisfaction. "Yes," he whispered, and a small smirk tugged at his lips. "But usually not so much with the boner in the cleft of my ass."

The swordsman blushed furiously as he realized that the cook was right, sometime as he was pulling the cook into his lap he had gotten aroused again, and his hardness was now pressing into the man's back. "Shut the fuck up, curly brow, or I'll -" he struggled to find a suitable threat "- I'll stick it farther up there."

Sanji laughed, a warm laugh that was no longer tainted with the bitterness of his sadness. It felt warm against Zoro's chest, like a favorite shirt right after drying in the sun all day. "Bad choice of words, marimo, I'd probably enjoy that more than you would."

At this, the swordsman suffered such deep embarrassment that he blushed madly and squirmed on the bed, which had the unfortunate result of leading Sanji to give a surprised, and all too sexy, moan. At the noise, Zoro bit his tongue and stopped moving. "Not another word, cook, I'm warning you," the swordsman threatened, his lips against the other man's ear.

Sanji shivered at the swordsman's lips being so close to his earlobe, whispering in that low and sexy tone, but he did not continue his teasing, for fear of making Zoro uncomfortable. "Let's just take that nap, like we planned on earlier," he suggested.

This sounded like a fine schedule for the afternoon for Zoro, and he allowed himself to lean back into the pillows, Sanji's warm body over him like a blanket, his hands linked in front of the cook's chest. He closed his eyes and let the warmth flow over him, the warmth of sleeping with another person, which Zoro didn't know if he had ever felt before in his life. As he began to settle into the silence, his chin resting on top of Sanji's head, he started to smell something. It smelled like the Sunny, he thought for a second, until he realized it was just the scent of the cook's hair: the salt of the ocean, the odor of freshly cooked seafood, and cigarettes. Always those damn cigarettes.

This scent, this feeling of home and nakama, brought back the feel of the waves rolling and rocking the boat, even if he was still land bound. Perhaps it was because, he thought disjointedly as he drifted into sleep, because he was holding the cook, and that was like holding the sea itself in his arms.

Neither the cook nor the swordsman woke up when Ace and Marco creaked the door open ten minutes after the conversation died down, and saw them laying in each other's arms. Exchanging smiles with each other, they closed the door again as softly as possible.

"Looks like it will all be okay," Marco said with a smile. "I didn't even know something this big was going on behind the scenes, thanks for filling me in."

Ace sipped his tea, his eyes looking out the window, as if still on active stake out. "Okay? Maybe it will be, I don't know."

"What makes you so unsure?" Marco pressed.

Ace went to the kitchen and opened the one drawer that did not contain any cooking supplies, but rather a collection of random household knickknacks. He shuffled around and then pulled out a calendar and pointed to the date a week from now. Marco looked over his shoulder and read the words that were printed on that date in Sanji's elegant script handwriting.

"Oh shit," Marco murmured. "That _is_ quite the problem."

Ace nodded sharply, shoving the calendar back where it belonged. They would have to deal with that milestone when they came to it. And there was no way it was going to be easy.

_A/N: This chapter was so, so, so, so, so FUCKING hard for me to write. So I hope you guys liked it, and please read and review. Unfortunately for me, I haven't organized the plot to get any easier for me to write from here on in. GAH! But, well, it looks like it's even harder for Zoro and Sanji, ne?_

_Love the reviews, keep them coming, and I love all of you!_


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece, and I'm afraid I'm starting to treat the character's with the same disregard to their health as our lovely Oda.**

**Warning: This chapter has some very graphic violence. Recommended to be taken sitting down and on a relatively empty stomach. **

There were many who believed that Roronoa Zoro had invited a demon into his heart. Reasons for this presumption were varied and exaggerated, but the truth behind the words were indisputable. The Pirate Hunter dodged bullets with uncanny speed, and he wielded a sword in his mouth, a feat that ought to be impossible with the construction of the human anatomy. Zoro could thrust his blades so keenly that they could slice through steel, or at the same time, slice through nothing at all, and he had even mastered the ability to send attacks flying through the air, projected blades created by force and willpower. And although there were no enemies alive to tell the tale, when Roronoa Zoro was immersed in the battle, black bandana tied round his head, he sometimes appeared to be a man with nine arms and three faces, a bloodthirsty demon that no force of the natural world could contend with.

Despite these rumors, that may or may not be facts regarding the swordsman, Zoro very rarely dealt fatal blows in his battles. It was not honorable and was rather below his sense of pride to run his blade through a person's body rather than using the more artful methods of slashing them down. Because of this, his blows on occasion had led to the demise of those receiving, but their death was not immediate, but rather due to bleeding out and lack of medical attention. Zoro certainly was never a merciful person with some misplaced sense of pity for his victims, but he nonetheless would refrain from issuing a stab or slice that would spell death for those who stood in his way.

Today was different.

The swordsman of the Strawhat Pirates headed into town with Brook and Nami in tow. He had followed behind them in a dead silence for the better part of the afternoon, as they asked questions to the shoppers in the street, Nami even using a few of her precious coins to glean some information about where they could find the gathered bounty hunters and slave traders on the island.

After this revelation, the group headed to a downtown bar that was apparently a hang out for these types. It resembled more of a shack than a drinking establishment from the outside, and the inside was no more promising. Despite it being daylight, the shadows were long and heavy inside, and the stench of day-old vomit and stale beer infiltrated Zoro's senses.

But regardless of the darkness and the stench, Zoro's eyes had quickly dissected the contents of the building, from the layout of the tables to the weapons and to the faces of the men. And there, in the far right corner, surrounded by a fair amount of rather delighted followers, was a face Zoro recognized. It was a man whose jaw must still be broken, a man who wielded a sword with surprising skill for a bounty hunter, the man who had slashed Sanji's back.

Before his crew mates noticed that their first mate had left their side, they heard the commotion coming from the far side of the room, the right corner. The gathering of low lives who were sitting there had all backed away or fallen from their seats. Nobody had yelled, but instead the room's attention was drawn by their choked silence.

The eyes of the men, as well as Nami and Brook, were now fixed on the man who had been seated in the corner, spending his newly earned money. He had the length of a sword stuck through his chest, and the tip of the blade was emerging from his back. The man was driven straight through the heart. It was a stab, a killing stab, made without warning on a man who was enjoying a drink with his friends. At the other end of the blade, gripping the hilt, eyes downcast and shadowed with rage, was a man named Roronoa Zoro.

"W-wh-what?" gasped the man whose heart was driven through.

"Where is Sanji," came the low voice of the infamous pirate. It was not a question.

"Fuck you," the bounty hunter cursed, spitting up blood that splattered down his shirt.

Zoro made no hesitation. He lifted his blade, bringing the man out of his seat with it, and held the man at a level above his head, his sword thrust into the air. At this motion, the man screamed and coughed and writhed in pain, and then he slowly, making keening noises for every inch, began to slide further down the blade, as it ripped slowly through the inner flesh of his heart, not yet allowing him to die.

"Tell me where he is," Zoro repeated. "And I will let you die."

The bounty hunter, face contorted in pain, blood leaking from his lips, raised his hand and placed it on the sword, the sharp blade slicing his hand to shreds, but it accomplished his purpose, stopping the torture of him sliding down the blade. "He...he's..." the man wheezed, the distinct sound of a death rattle. Zoro shook his blade with a flick of his wrist, causing a curse of pain to rip from the man's bloodied mouth, striking him into wakefulness. "Lee. Lee has him, south side...south on the island." He gripped the blade harder with his ruined hand, scrambling desperately against the metal slick with blood. "Let me go..." he pleaded with the last of his strength.

Zoro flicked his wrist once more, sending the men flying off of his blade and tumbling to the ground, where he lay a bloody mess for a handful of seconds before death closed over him. The pirate hunter watched his die with sharp, surveying eyes, and then flicked the excess blood off of his blade before encasing it back in its saya.

Eventually, the blackened and demonic eyes of Roronoa Zoro met those of his fellow crew members, who were still standing at the entrance. Nami's eyes were wide, her hand over her mouth, horror rippling through her tiny frame. Brook was standing next to her, his long fingers folded over the curve of his cane that stood steadily in front of him. He did not seem scared, which was the usual expression he wore in frightful situations, but rather serious and controlled.

"Zoro-san," the tall skeleton said simply, placing his cane down on the wooden floor with a hollow _clunk, _turning to face the door. He lightly put his other hand on Nami's back, gently pressing her forward to the exit. "Let us go," Brook suggested, and he walked outside, as if expecting to be followed, exuding the air of a man who was once a first mate and then a captain, a man older and wiser than he often revealed.

The swordsman was not bothered by avengers or accusations as he made his way out the door after his crew mates. The crowd parted way for him, keeping their distance, the hardened and battle-worn men cowering in fear as if they were villagers, innocent women and children and the like. Zoro did not meet their eyes as he left. His brain had simply become programmed with a new destination, a new mantra: _Lee, south side of the island, his name is Lee._

He stepped outside to meet the daylight once more, seeing Nami and Brook waiting for him. Nami did not look up to meet his eyes, but Brook's empty sockets were staring right down at him.

"That was rather unlike you, Zoro-san, if you don't mind me saying," Brook said, acting as though Zoro had exhibited rude behavior at a dinner party rather than brutally torturing and murdering a man right in public view.

"Don't care," Zoro answered gruffly. "Let's go. His name is Lee. South side of the island."

"We're not going anywhere alone, Zoro-san," Brook explained. He glanced at Nami, who was still quivering slightly, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Zoro could care less about her apparently newly acquired delicate sensibilities. She had never been afraid when he cut down an enemy before, so what was the difference now? He placed his hand on the hilt of his bloodied blade. "Brook," he said lowly, the threat in his voice rippling through his powerful muscles, "I am not waiting. He has Sanji."

"He does," Brook agreed. "But Sanji-san is strong, am I correct? I'm sure he will be fine. On the other hand, I am more concerned with you right now, Zoro."

"This is ridiculous!" Zoro snapped in return. "You don't know me," he seethed, "I've killed before, and I'll do it again until we find the cook, so get out of my way, you damn skeleton!"

Brook did not move. "You have killed. We are pirates, we all have. But never so coldly, Zoro-san." He curled his fingers around the head of his cane but made no movement to draw the rapier attached to it. "Forgive me if I am wrong in this assumption, but a man who kills so coldly will not be capable of love later on."

Zoro finally looked up from his reddened haze of anger, the shadows dissipating from over his eyes. He met Brook's empty gaze and realized that the wise older man knew, somehow, exactly what Zoro was feeling right now. Like Robin, the skeleton had not missed the swordsman's changed emotions toward the cook, and he thereby saw how Zoro was driven into these actions. And understanding all this, he still dared to ask Zoro to calm down because...

_Capable of love_. Yes, he had learned years ago that he, a hell-bound assassin with no surviving family and no god-sent purpose in life, was miraculously capable of loving and was blessed with being loved in return. He suddenly felt as though the heavy wetness of the blood on his blade was a black parasite, the same sort of parasite that had threatened to consume his heart whole moments ago. He lowered his hand off the hilts of his blades.

"Very well," he responded to Brook. He looked at Nami, the poor, unsettled young girl who had seen far too much damage in her short life. The swordsman cupped her shoulder and massaged a slow circle until she ceased her shivering. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Nami," he said. The woman was taken aback by the words, but she raised her hand and placed it over Zoro's own.

"It's okay, baka," she said, the strength leaking back into her voice. "Just surprised me, that's all."

The swordsman allowed the white lie to slide. "Let's tell the others," he said, indicating the den den mushi on the navigator's wrist. "We'll regroup and be home by dinner with the cook."

Nami gave a weak smile and Brook laughed, glad that the first mate they knew best was back to normal. The demon that laid within Zoro was once more buried underneath the surface, chained back with his pride and dignity, a special murderous intent that would never again be released without the leash in the control of the swordsman's strong hands.

ZOSAN

Meanwhile, on the south side of this accursed island, Sanji was just coming to, forcing his mind out of the drugged sleep to which he had been condemned. Before he opened his eyes, he reached out with his other senses. His hands were bound in metal cuffs at either side of his body, stretched out in a crucifix position. He was sitting down on a cold, stone floor and he felt the dampness of the room had seeped into the seat of his pants a long time ago. Not too far away, he heard muffled voices, sounding as though they were from behind a closed door. Most importantly, there was a throbbing, indisputable pain that was coming from his feet, and he knew in that moment that they had been badly damaged.

Cracking his eyes open, he steeled himself, glancing first around the sullen room he was contained to, which was not a cell nor a steel cage. It was bare, stone, and had one exiting door, which was wooden in make, on the far right wall. Slowly, Sanji lowered his eyes. Another outfit ruined, but otherwise he lacked any wounds, until his vision reached his feet.

_Fuck_.

All at once, all the pain that he had felt from his feet came into acute awareness, and he ground his teeth together to keep back the scream he so desperately wanted to release. He supposed they had lacked cuffs to secure his feet, and thus they had taken extraordinarily cruel measures to keep his kicking attacks at bay, because rammed through his feet were two headless, thin, long nails, embedded all the way through the flesh and into the stone below.

Still gritting his teeth, Sanji watched as the door on the far side of the room opened, revealing a man he could barely see from the shadows, a large man with a darkened face. The cook could see his teeth in the darkness as he smiled.

"So you're awake," he said.

"You shitty bastards," Sanji cursed. "Fucking nails through my fucking feet, I'll kill you for this."

The man laughed. "I doubt that," he said. "And besides, we were careful about how we did it. As long as you don't struggle too much, your feet will heal up fine with minimal scarring. We don't want you to be ugly, now do we?"

"I'll show you how fucking ugly I can be, you bastard," Sanji said, vainly struggling at the chains that secured his hands. He released that they had underestimated his strength in that department, for the bounds were rather loose in their securement to the wall, as if a screw or two were loose. If only he could free his hands...

"Your feet will hardly matter, anyway," the man replied, completely ignoring Sanji's threats. "You won't be doing a lot of standing where we're sending you."

"And where's that?" Sanji demanded, his curiosity getting the better of him. He recalled the hunter last night had said they were not planning on turning the cook in for his bounty.

"Mariejois," the man answered. He moved closer to Sanji so that way the man could see his face. He had a long scar running down the side of his chin, dark black eyes and a rough mop of black hair he secured back in a low ponytail. "You are to be a present for one of the great Celestial Dragons. He specifically requested a pretty boy just like you."

"Pretty boy?" Sanji groused. "So it's slavery then?" He shook his head. "You guys aren't just shitty bastards, you're stupid, too. My bounty is much higher than what you could sell me for."

The man clucked his tongue. "I don't think so. You see, he's willing to pay a heavy penny for a slave that will be used for more _private _matters, if you catch my drift." The man reached out and began to unbutton Sanji's shirt, and the cook, powerless to resist, growled at him and snapped his teeth.

"Stop that, you pervert, and no I don't catch your drift."

The man ignored him and opened Sanji's unbuttoned shirt, revealing his compact chest. "Perfect," he murmured. "Exactly what we need. I had my doctors take care of that wound on your back, it shouldn't even scar now. So all we have to worry about now is getting that fiesty bite out of you."

The cook realized that the man was speaking the truth, because although the pain is his feet was unbearable, he could barely feel the twinge in his back. They must have cared for it well while he was knocked out. "Why do you care if I scar?" he asked.

The man looked up and brushed his hand through Sanji's blond hair before the cook went to bite at him. "Because we need a pretty boy, didn't I say? He requested a tall, thin blonde with blue eyes. Just like you." He lowered his hands and began to swiftly undo the button on Sanji's pants. Horrified, the chained blond writhed and struggled against his bounds.

"Stop that, you fucking pervert!"

There was a heavy sigh in the silence, as though his captor was simply exasperated. "I have no interest in men, Blackleg," he explained. "But I need to check out my wares before I sell them." His rough and callused hand reached into Sanji's undone pants and roughly pulled out the most sensitive part of his anatomy. The cook cursed with words the man had never heard before as he ran his finger down it's limp length.

"Again, perfect," he said. "That hunter gave me a good tip off. You'll do well."

"Do well for what," Sanji growled. "And get your hands off my dick."

The man released Sanji's member but did not back off of him completely. "You still don't get it?" he shook his head as though Sanji was a naive child. "You're going to be a plaything, Blackleg Sanji. A fuck toy, understand?"

"What?" Sanji screamed in his captor's face. "So I'm being bought by a woman?"

The man stood up, chuckling to himself. "No, stupid, I was saying _he_ because a man is buying you. Don't tell me you have a virgin asshole?"

The cook spat at him. "It's none of your shitty concern, you bloody asshole."

Making his way to the door, the man laughed again. "I'll take that as a yes, which will make my sale that much better. Thank you for your service." He turned before he left the room to say, "Don't get too lonely without me, since I'll be back soon. I just need to make sure they finished making your Vivre Card."

"Vivre card?" Sanji echoed.

"Yeah," the man responded. "I'm not about to lose you if you run away, pretty boy." Without another taunt, he left, closing the door behind him.

Sanji was glad he was gone, and not just because he never wanted that ugly bastard to touch his cock again. The cook could take the horrors of the Grand Line in stride, and he had seen some awful things in his lifetime, but there was no way he was going to wait around for his crew to save him when there was a chance, however slight, that he could wind up underneath some fat, rich, sweaty old man being pounded into oblivion and shame. There was no way he was letting somebody else defile his body. He thought for a moment on that special someone, that somebody that he did not have in this world but had in another. His body was for that person, if he ever came across them, for that person and nobody else.

The cook looked down at the nails that were driven through his feet. "This is going to hurt like a bitch," he murmured.

ZOSAN

The Strawhat crew was all together, sans one, running across the island as fast as their feet could carry them, all tagging behind one captain wearing a straw hat. Up ahead, now within their sight, was an old, stone building, a couple stories high. From the outside, it looked run down and abandoned, but the crew knew better. This was their destination.

There were guard men out front, but before they were able to sound an alarm, two shots fired by the crew's sniper dispatched them. The door was metal, but that proved no problem to the swordsman, who did not even stop in his steps as he sliced the door clean in two, leaving his captain to slam into it full force, sending the entrance crashing down into the interior of the slave trader's base.

"SANJI!" Luffy cried as soon as he got inside. "WHERE ARE YOU?"

His loud announcement defeated the purpose of taking down the guards outside rather quickly, as many men emerged from the other rooms of the building, baring weapons and grinning maliciously. Nevertheless, the bulk of them were left surprised when lightening rattled down from above them, sending strong electrical current through their bodies and leaving them an unconscious heap on the ground.

The other group of men were dispatched through various other means, some sent flying with the force of a rubber whip, some clutched by hands sprouting from their own bodies, but most were cut down by the flying swords of Zoro, as he tore through them viciously and without abandon.

The crew was going to get their cook back today, there was no doubt about it. If not because of the anger raging in the swordsman's blood, then because they had made the captain, Monkey D Luffy, miss two meals by this point of the day.

ZOSAN

Upstairs, Lee was interrupted from his meal when one of his men ran through the door, panic painting his face. "Sir! The Strawhat crew has arrived, they are tearing through the men! They'll find the captive any minute now."

Lee groused and pushed aside his meal. "Those five aren't back yet?" he asked.

The subordinate shook his head. "We aren't expecting them until tomorrow."

Standing up, Lee ordered him, "Ready the ship, we're leaving now."

"But sir, the captive -"

"Leave him!" the towering man roared. "Once I had those five men at my side, I'll have no problem capturing him and dispatching his crew, too, what with his Vivre Card." He held up the piece of paper he had clutched in his large fingers. "He won't make it very far."

ZOSAN

Zoro had broken apart from the rest of the crew. As they came across new groups of enemies, one of the crew would break off each time, relaying that they would handle these men and that Zoro should go on ahead. Luffy had been with him until just a minute ago, when they had split up, the captain heading down toward the cellar, where it was likely for captives to be kept, while Zoro headed toward the back of the building, looking for a staircase to take him higher. The first floor had been empty of the cook.

The swordsman was not stopping to open any doors or obey any walls, as he drove through them all, ruining the building in the wake of his storm. Finally, he cut down an aggravating wall that blocked his path, sending debris flying, and burst through it, realizing he had reached the outer wall as he found himself outside in the light of the setting sun.

He was about to turn and head back inside when he saw something on the horizon that tore his ambitions right out from under his feet. A ship, not a marine vessel or a merchant ship, but the ship that had been docked by this building when they had arrived, the ship that surely belonged to the slave traders, a ship that was taking Sanji away. It was far out into the sea now, and they had left the Sunny where it was. He did not know where the ship was headed or how to catch it. Zoro dropped his swords to the ground, allowing them a clatter, which was something he had never done, even when he was too wounded to hold the hilts. He ran to the edge of the island and into the ocean until he was up to his knees, thinking desperately that perhaps if he left his swords behind, as much as it would pain him to do so, he could swim fast enough to catch the ship and be damned if he couldn't rescue Sanji there.

"It's a mile out already," a voice said from behind him. "And it has a strong headwind. So that would probably be the dumbest thing you had ever thought of doing, marimo."

Zoro turned slowly, suddenly all too aware that he was unarmed, and looked for the source of the voice. He couldn't believe, but who else called him _marimo_. Who else, but...

Sanji. Sanji, sitting against the wall he had burst though, leaning on the stones and smoking a cigarette as if he were enjoying the sunset. His shirt was unbuttoned and his perfect hair was slick with sweat from exertion, but he was there, and he was whole. Zoro looked at the ship, then back at Sanji.

"How?" he managed to say.

Sanji shrugged. "They left without me, but I think they have another plan up their sleeve. I had already busted out before you guys had come and was running wild, trying to catch the leader." He sighed and took another drag. "But I suppose he decided to cut his loses. I think he'll be back, though. He has the means to come back for me."

Zoro was only half listening as he closed in on the cook, walking past his swords on the ground without picking them up, walking slowly as if he were afraid Sanji would disappear before his eyes, leaving him with his heart ripped from his chest. But no, the cook was still there, still sitting against the wall, looking up at him.

"Sanji," Zoro breathed once he reached him. He bent down swiftly and collected the man in his arms, crushing him against his chest, one hand around his torso and the other gripping the back of his head, holding on so tightly, pressing Sanji against his body until he could feel the other man's heartbeat through his skin.

The cook did not struggle against his grip, and as the seconds ticked by with Zoro's arms wrapped around him, Sanji succumbed to his emotions and slowly brought up his own hands, lightly winding them around the swordsman's waist and pressing the man into his own body as well. "Worried, shitty swordsman?" he murmured.

"You have no idea," Zoro replied, and he finally released Sanji, although he was begrudged to do so, but as he went to set the cook back on his feet, the cook let out a cry of protest and crumpled in a heap on the ground.

"Shit!" Zoro cursed. "Are you okay? Sanji?"

"Yeah," the man replied. "Just..." he waved his hand at his feet. "I had to risk an injury to get out of this place."

Zoro followed the man's gesture and when he saw Sanji's feet the first thing he thought was, _why doesn't he have shoes on?_ The man's feet were red, completely red with blood, and it took Zoro another second to realize that the blood, while some of it may have belonged to the men Sanji took down, was mainly the blood of the cook's. And the blood was oozing from fresh, agitated wounds, small but gaping holes that ran through the entirety of the cook's flesh.

The swordsman collected Sanji's one bare foot in his hands, holding it tenderly. "What did they do to you?" he asked. After he had spoken, he noticed that his voice was shaking. Whether it was in fear for the cook or anger, he was unsure.

"Nails through my feet," Sanji replied. "To keep me down. Didn't work, though, did it?"

Zoro's hands were coated in the cook's blood by now as he surveyed the wounds. Although they were deep, they were carefully placed and had not damaged the cook's bone structure. With proper care, they should heal up. He felt a wave of relief wash over him. Sanji would walk again, he would fight again, he would be okay.

"I'm going to kill them," Zoro told the cook.

"No," Sanji answered. "I'd rather that I did the killing, thanks."

"Did they do anything else to you?" Zoro asked.

Sanji cast his eyes to the side and downward. "No," he lied.

"What the fuck did they do?" Zoro demanded, grabbing Sanji's chin and turning his face toward his. He pressed his forehead against the man's own. "We know what they wanted you for. Did they fucking touch you?"

"I wasn't raped, if that's what you're asking," Sanji replied, still not meeting the swordsman's eyes.

"That isn't what I'm asking!" Zoro insisted. He clutched the sides of Sanji's head, running his fingers deep into the cook's hair, still pressing their foreheads together. Anger stung in his eyes as he gazed into the spiteful and furious face of the cook below him. "I'm asking you if they laid their filthy hands on my husband!"

Sanji's eyes flashed up to meet Zoro's own, and in this moment, Zoro released his grip on the cook's face and stumbled backward. The words had come out his mouth before he could even process them. But now they were out there, wide in the open, and he was unable to take them back. The blatant truth had been released, before Zoro could attempt to win Sanji into his arms, before he could even steal one more kiss.

The cook did not ask Zoro to repeat the words, which meant he had heard them clearly, and how could he not, as close as Zoro was in that moment and the way he had declared it shamelessly? Sanji was still sitting, bloodied feet splayed out in front of him, the muscles in his face slack in unconcealed horror. He blinked a handful of times, taking in his view of Zoro, who was kneeling before him, his head bowed, his hands folded in front of him, as if about to be subjected to a blow from an executioner's axe.

Finally, the cook spoke, in a low and hoarse whisper. "I should have known."

_A/N: I think a lot of you thought this chapter would be the start of the climax for this universe, but I never had it planned that way, this was just rising action. There's a lot more character development and plot points to reach before the climax. I suppose I just write too much, don't I?_

_Well, I feel like a total troll now, so please don't hate and review, okay? You may curse me out if you wish. I'm sorry._

_Oh, and yes, you can recover from a nail going through your foot, I'm not being crazy here. I've had one go through mine, and I don't even have a scar. Hurts like a bitch, though. I cried, but I was 8, and I think Sanji had more balls then me._


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. I don't even own a one piece bathing suit.**

**Warning: For mature audiences only! So no children or innocent minds. Yes, that means you too, Chopper. Go look super cute somewhere else.**

Zoro woke up feeling indescribable warmth all over his body. He cracked an eye open and looked down, realizing that Sanji was still in his arms. In their sleep, both of them had rolled to lay down facing each other, and he could feel the stale air the cook breathed out tickling his nose. The man's arm was around Zoro's own waist and his one long leg was thrown over Zoro's left. The cook's clothes were rather rumpled after sleeping in them, which the swordsman was sure the man would complain about later and find some way to blame it on Zoro.

He took a moment to regard the man laying in his arms. In his sleep, Sanji's face was surprisingly peaceful, all the lines of his rage that he was quick to come to had been smoothed away, and his golden strands of hair framed his face in a manner that was nearly angelic, with the soft light of the afternoon dancing across the man's pale, unworried brow. Tentatively, Zoro raised a hand a brushed a strand back, tucking it behind the cook's ear.

At the touch, the cook began to stir, and Zoro drew his hand back, but did not pull away his body completely. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, eyelashes ridiculously long, now that Zoro had taken the time to look. He looked up at Zoro with one piercing, blue eye, already aware of his surroundings.

"Still a pirate?" he mumbled.

Zoro nodded.

Sanji's face fell for a moment. "But you stayed. Thank you."

"I told you I wasn't going anywhere, shit cook."

A soft smile graced Sanji's face. "Well," he said, extracting his limbs from Zoro's body, "I suppose now that we've had our rest we should relieve Ace and Marco, I'm sure they are itching to go out and set something on fire, or whatever it is that they do on their off time."

Zoro watched as the cook stood up and looked down in distaste at his rumpled, wrinkled clothing. He strode to the closet in three quick steps and fumbled around, eventually pulling out a thin pair of jeans and a sweater. The swordsman could not help himself, eyeing the cook as he slipped off his pants and pulled his shirt off, looking at his lean muscles and his sculpted ass, for the first time the swordsman was amazed with the grace and balanced that the cook moved with. It was so effortlessly elegant, so enticing. A soft blush touched Zoro's cheeks as he recalled the flexibility that dwelt in the cook's long limbs, and yet the strength that revolved from the man's tight hips.

Sanji must have noticed he was being watched, because he threw a glance over his shoulder as he was buttoning up his jeans. "Would you stop looking at me like some sort of virgin?" he teased.

At these words, Zoro's blush only deepened, and seeing this reaction, Sanji's jaw dropped.

"No way," he breathed. "Tell me you think you're a virgin."

"Well, uh..." Zoro blanched. "Why do you care?"

The cook doubled over, clutching his sides in laughter, raising a finger to point condescendingly at Zoro. "A virgin! You?" He began to howl with amusement. "I can't even imagine it!" He steadied himself by placing his hands on his knees. "You really don't recall having sex...ever?"

"I think I would know!" Zoro snapped back at him.

Sanji just snorted another chuckle. "Well, believe what you want, but that body isn't virgin in any way, not for a long time."

The implications of Sanji's words sunk in slowly for Zoro. Of course, if he was married to Sanji, that meant they did sexual things together. And of the sexual things that two people engaged in, sex was most definitely one of them. Which meant, logically, that Zoro and Sanji had sex. He had had sex with Sanji. He looked at the other man, who was regarding him with a raised curly eyebrow, as if judging his reaction.

Yet Zoro was unsure of what his reaction was. At first, he imagined, and felt like the pervert cook for doing so, Sanji's body splayed beneath him, long legs spread open, face flushed, his reddened arousal leaking invitingly right below his perfect, chiseled and lean abs. But then he thought of what Sanji had said a little deeper - _not a virgin in any way_. He suddenly felt the urge to gingerly touch his backside.

"When you say not a virgin in any way, cook, do you mean...?"

Sanji smirked, his smug attitude filling the room. "What, didn't think I could dish it?"

So that was a yes. Zoro froze. His entire body felt tense. That meant that Sanji had been inside of him, dominated him, rode him... At first he felt a wave of nausea wash over him, but then, as he pictured it, once again feeling far more perverted than was his nature, he found he rather liked the imagine of Sanji laying over him. After all, it was a man he trusted with his life, so why couldn't he trust this man with his pleasure?

"But I top more though, right?" Zoro asked, baiting the cook.

It worked. Sanji pursed his lips. "Well I don't keep a shitty tally if that's what you're asking, but I think it's 50/50."

Zoro flashed his bloodthirsty smirk. "So then yes, I do top more."

"No you don't!" Sanji insisted, planting his foot down. "It's equal, and I'd say I'm a damn sight better at it too!"

"Ho, really?" Zoro chuckled. "I'll make you eat those words, curly brow."

Their argument was interrupted by a knock at the door. From the other side, Ace called out, "Hey, this sounds like fun and everything, but if you guys are up, can Marco and I head out?"

Sanji gave Zoro a look that read _"we'll finish this later"_, and then opened the door. As he did so, Zoro got up and searched through the closet, throwing on some black jeans and button down. He fumbled with the buttons with his large thumbs as he went to join the conversation at the door.

"You sure you don't want anything to eat before you go?" Sanji was asking.

Ace shook his head. "No, I uh..." he rubbed the back of his neck and then smiled up at Sanji. "Luffy told me the code that you told me the other night...so I sort of raided the fridge while you guys were sleeping." He attempted to make puppy dog eyes at the cook, which failed miserably. "Sorry."

Sanji gritted his teeth. "I should have known. I have to go grocery shopping twice a week with you guys around, I swear." He pushed past Ace and went to the kitchen to inspect the damage.

In the meantime, Ace looked back at Zoro and patted him on the shoulder. "I know you're confused, man, but I'm glad you're trying to make it work." He paused, and then clapped him roughly a few times, which made the swordsman lock his knees so they wouldn't buckle under the force of the man's hand. "I'm proud of you, kid."

"Oi, I'm only a year younger than you," Zoro groused. At this, Ace just laughed and the two of them started walking to the kitchen until they had to stop in their steps due to the angry roar that Sanji had just unleashed.

"Did you leave anything left?" Sanji screamed. He appeared in the hallway holding an empty container, waving it in Ace's face. "And you ate the pike I made for Usopp! Do you even know how to cook pike?"

"Hey," Ace protested. "I do the cooking at home sometimes, I can fry a fish."

Sanji just grumbled and cursed under his breath, and then pointed an accusatory finger at Marco, who was still seated on the couch, now immersed fully in a novel. "And you!" he declared. "You didn't stop him."

Marco held up his hands in surrender. "I plead my right to remain silent."

"Ugh," Sanji moaned. "Just leave, the two of you."

Marco and Ace looked at each other and shrugged. They gathered their stuff and headed out the door, sending back a cheery wave and a "See you!" as they left. Zoro was trying his hardest not to smile, seeing as the cook was seething and he did not want to invite the man's temper when it came to matters of food.

"I'm just gonna go lift some weights," Zoro said, leaving to excuse himself, but a long-fingered hand grabbed his shoulder as he went to turn away.

"Oh no you aren't," Sanji threatened. "You are going grocery shopping with me."

"No way, shit cook!" Zoro yelled. "I'm not going to be your pack mule!"

"Pack mule, husband, same thing," Sanji said. He grabbed his keys and wallet and phone and Zoro's own things, tossing them to the swordsman who caught them in one deft hand. "Let's go, marimo, or you're just gonna have to starve."

"You wouldn't," Zoro said.

Sanji sighed. "Okay, you called my bluff." Then his eyes lit up, inflamed with his latest devious idea. He sauntered over to the swordsman and lightly brushed Zoro's earrings, letting them jangle from the contact, before throwing his arms languidly over the man's broad shoulders. Zoro felt his heart rate increase as he cook looked up at him from demurely lowered eyes. "If I can't threaten you," he began, his voice low and lilting, "then why don't I bribe you."

"With what?" Zoro asked. His voice sounded stronger than he felt.

Sanji removed one hand from Zoro's shoulder and wrapped it around his waist. Zoro stared down at him as the cook's hand went lower and lower, until it was cupping the firm left cheek of his ass. "Good boys are rewarded, right?" he asked, finishing his sentence with a rough squeeze.

Zoro refused to be deterred. He prodded a finger into the cook's chest, which didn't cause him to loose balance or stumble, but it did bring a scowl to the man's face. "I'm not a boy. And I'm not good," he insisted.

The cook flashed all of his dazzling white teeth in his next smile, his hand teasingly running light touches up and down Zoro's side. "Maybe that's what I like about you."

Sanji voice went straight to Zoro's member, and he felt it twitch in anticipation. He bit back a growl and said, "Fine, but this better be quick."

ZOSAN

It was not quick. It was three hours later, and Zoro was standing in front of another bakery, in another store, because apparently some products were better at other stores than others, so they had already visited two grocery stores, a market, and now a bakery. It was becoming exhausting, and fast. Zoro switched the bags from one hand to another, scowling and glaring at the cook as much as possible, who appeared to be all too delighted in wasting as much time as he could chatting up the pretty girl behind the counter.

The girl giggled and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "You really are too much, Mr. Roronoa," she said. Zoro looked up for a second and then realized she was talking to Sanji. He growled. Sanji, who was called Mr. Roronoa because he was _his_ husband. It was odd how fast Zoro had become possessive over a man that he had no inkling of romantic feelings for this morning. Nevertheless, he couldn't bury the irrational rage he felt when the cook brushed his lips over the women's knuckles in a kiss.

"Nothing could ever be too much for you, mademoiselle. You deserve the best and most of everything."

Zoro rolled his eyes. He cleared his throat loudly, but the cook ignored him. On contrary, the girl behind the counter looked up and took in his scowl. She giggled again, her high pitched tones amplifying the headache Zoro got an hour ago.

"It looks like your friend is anxious to go, Mr. Roronoa," she said. She started to bag up Sanji's items.

"Ignore him!" Sanji declared, staying her hand. "He's just too brutish to understand the finer points of artisan breads."

The swordsman couldn't stomach it any longer. "Oi, what are you implying, shit cook?" he snapped at the man. Rather quickly, Sanji's leg flung around and would have taken Zoro's head off his shoulders if he hadn't ducked.

"Don't talk like that in front of a lady, marimo bastard!" he scolded, defiling his own holy rules in the process.

The girl behind the counter played with her hair again, watching them fondly. "You two bicker like an old married couple," she said.

"Ah," Sanji pouted dramatically. "You couldn't be implying that you think I look old, do you, darling?"

She held up her hands in fake surrender, shaking her head. "No, no, Mr. Roronoa, you're the youngest chef in the city." She blushed and glanced down on at the floor as she added, "And the most handsome, too."

Sanji clasped his hands over his heart and swayed pathetically from side to side. "Oh, how you've set my heart alight! Such a divine beauty had complimented me!" He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small white card. "Why don't you come to the All Blue this weekend? It'll be on the house. Bring a friend, if you would like."

The girl looked down at the card. "Oh really?" she exclaimed. "That's so sweet, Mr. Roronoa, I couldn't possibly!"

"I insist," Sanji said, pressing the card into the palm of her hand.

She bit her plump lower lip and fluttered her eyelashes. "You said I could bring a friend, but..." she shook her head, her brown curls bouncing, "I'd rather go with you, Mr. Roronoa."

Zoro snorted. Disgusting. Was she that desperate?

"It would be an honor," Sanji said, "But alas, I would be unable to accompany you in that manner, my dear lady." He held up his hand, allowing the girl to catch sight of the ring on his finger.

"Oh," the girl said, stepping back. "Well I feel foolish. She's a very lucky woman."

The swordsman was still standing in the background of the conversation, by now gritting his teeth. Sanji looked over his shoulder back at Zoro and lightly shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. "No," he sighed. "I'm the lucky one."

These words struck Zoro into silence. It was such an honest display of emotion and affection from the cook, completely verbal and not embedded in physical acts and desires. He all of the sudden did not feel so threatened by the woman behind the counter, no matter how pretty she was, simply because, for some reason, Zoro had fallen for the cook, but it was seeming clearer and clearer to him that the cook had fallen for him _back_. If that wasn't a miracle, he didn't know what was.

"Come on, love cook," he said, picking up the bags from where he had dumped them on the floor. "Let's go home."

"See?" Sanji gestured to Zoro, talking in a stage whisper to the girl. "He's so impatient." He took his bags from the counter, though, and said his goodbyes to the girl, telling her that she should still stop by for a meal, before meeting up with Zoro at the back of the shop, where they walked out together.

Sanji lifted his leg and give Zoro a light kick in the ass. "You were jealous, marimo."

"In your dreams," Zoro scoffed. But even to his unexperienced ears, the lie was more resounding than the dizzying noises of the city at sunset. There was no way to hide it. Zoro did not know what he felt for Sanji right now, and he didn't know if it was feelings brought to the surface from obligation to the man, but there was something there...something that may have been there all along, and he had just never taken the time to notice.

ZOSAN

It was later that evening, after they had finally returned home, and both Zoro and Sanji were sitting across from each other in silence, just having finished a full course meal that Sanji whipped up in record time. Fully satisfied, the swordsman leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach, and belched. Sanji wrinkled his nose.

"With those manners, you are definitely helping me with the dishes, marimo."

Zoro groaned, but stood up, obliged to aid the man who cooked for him. Just like at the Sunny, Sanji washed and Zoro dried. Every time he passed Zoro a plate he would announce "Another" as he handed it over.

"Stop that!" Zoro yelled. "You don't have to say that every damn time."

Sanji smirked. "Another," he said, and he thrust the dish at Zoro quickly so that droplets of water splashed on the swordsman's face. Zoro dried the plate, cursing out the curly brow under his breath.

Once they had finished the dishes, Zoro felt the damp rag in his hand being pulled from his fingers. Sanji tugged the rag away and raised it up, softly staring straight at Zoro as he wiped the beads of moisture away from the swordsman's face.

"You weren't a very good boy today," he said softly. Zoro heart skipped a beat, recalling his earlier bribe.

"You're kidding me," he groused. "I carried around those bags for hours and barely complained the entire time."

Sanji tutted. "But you were rather rude with the cashiers and associates. That's not how a good boy acts."

The cook was lingering so close to Zoro that he felt the strong desire to just crash his body into the other man's, pinning him against the counter and having his way with him. Instead, he settled for roughly grabbing Sanji's hips and bringing them up against his own. "Well, I told you I wasn't a good boy," he reminded the man. "I'm a wanted pirate, remember?" He lowered his jaw slowly to the cook's own, trying to decipher the anxious expression on the man's face. "I take what I want."

With these words, Zoro's lips brushed against Sanji's. It was not a bruising and consuming kiss as it had been earlier today, but rather he eased into it slowly, teasing his tongue along the cook's bottom lip until he opening his mouth, allowing him entrance, where Zoro casually explored the cavern of the blond's mouth, his tongue touching Sanji's own, their lips still moving in tandem.

Sanji's hands were the first to begin roaming, moving up Zoro's shirt until it came to his buttons, which he undid the first three with such swiftness that Zoro nearly pulled back, but after recuperating, he pressed forward, bucking his hips into the cook's own.

The cook's fingers reached underneath the fabric of Zoro's shirt and he caressed in smooth circles, inching closer to the swordsman's nipples, which he eventually took between two fingers and pinched experimentally. At the stimulation, Zoro could not help but gasp into Sanji's mouth. Encouraged by this reaction, the cook continued to tease Zoro until the man was flushed and excited.

"Stop that, asshole," Zoro murmured. He reached around the cook and, grasping him by the ass, lifted the man. As though it was a natural reaction, Sanji threw his legs around Zoro's waist, and their groins met once again. This time, Zoro could feel the sure hardened bulge in the cook's pants, and the friction it provided against his own erection was delicious.

He stumbled, holding the cook and still kissing him, until they crashed into the bedroom door, where he threw Sanji down on the bed before him and, kicking off his shoes, climbed on top of the blond man. Before he laid over him, though, he took a second to look down at Sanji, who was sprawled out on the large mattress and white sheets like a lazy cat, arms behind his head, legs slightly open in an inviting and yet not a whorish manner, his singular visible eye looking at the swordsman expectantly.

Zoro couldn't resist for a second longer. He wanted to see this beautiful man before him in the same position, but nude, with his leaking arousal visible to Zoro, available for the swordsman to manipulate the cook into a mind blowing state of sexual pleasure.

"Strip," Zoro ordered, his voice husky in lust. Sanji gave a smug smile, but he obeyed, slowly placing his fingers underneath his shirt and pulling it over his head. Then he ran his hands down his bare chest, pausing briefly to brush over his pert nipples, before he reached his pants. He flicked the button open, and unzipped the zipper so slowly Zoro could hear every notch come undone.

Driven by lust, Zoro finished the job quickly, ripping the jeans from Sanji, revealing tented boxer briefs underneath. He went to pull these down, too, but Sanji stopped his hand. "No, no, no," he said. "Take your shirt off."

Raising his hands, Zoro undid the rest of his buttons and quickly pulled his shirt off over his shoulders, casting it aside. He ripped at his jeans, pulling them off of one leg and then kicking them aside. Finally, Sanji's hand reached out and palmed his arousal through his boxers, and Zoro bit his lip to keep in a moan from the contact.

Crashing down on top of Sanji, he kissed the man feverishly, nipping at his lower lip, Sanji's goatee rubbing against his own smooth chin. He dotted kisses down the man's jawline and neck, and paused to suck right underneath the cook's ear. At the touch, Sanji groaned and bucked his hips into Zoro's own.

"Any better than you think the girl from the bakery would be?" Zoro teased in the man's ear, his lips lightly brushing Sanji's lobe.

"You'll have to prove it to me," Sanji insisted.

Zoro grinned at the challenge. He allowed his teeth to scrape down the side of Sanji's neck before dipping down to bestow a wet and sloppy kiss on the man beneath him, pulling back, allowing salvia to drip from his mouth, a long string connecting the two of them before it broke. He mimicked what Sanji did earlier, kissing and biting all down the man's chest before he reached his nipples, and he clamped down his teeth on those too, which caused the blond to curse out, whether in pain or pleasure, neither of them were sure. Regardless, Zoro continued, his hand flittering over Sanji's chest with care, slipping a hand inside the cook's boxers, nails brushing Sanji's length, which was hot and leaking from the tip.

Zoro brought it free from its confines in fabric, and couldn't help himself to steal a glance, for he had yet to see Sanji fully aroused before. The swordsman found himself taken aback, because the cock he was holding in his hands was generously proportioned, more so than his own, and with Sanji's pale skin, the blood flow that caused the arousal made his appendage deep in color, its puckered tip crying clear droplet of precum.

The swordsman brushed a finger along his tip, collecting a droplet of this liquid, and it placed it in his mouth, trying the new flavor. He watched the cook's face as he did this, and as Zoro stuck the finger into his mouth, Sanji's cheeks turned a deep shade of red. He glared up at the swordsman, salvia still dripping down his chin. "Fucking touch me, you asshole, or I'll kill you."

Zoro ran his fingers through the coarse hairs before coming to Sanji's base. He grasped it in his hand and pumped it once to the top, and then paused, collecting the clear lubrication Sanji's body had provided, and used that on his hands to pump the hardened length again and again. Sanji bucked his hips into Zoro's hand, a broken moan falling from his mouth.

Unable to go without stimulation much longer, Zoro reached into his own pants with his free hand and pulled out his aroused length. He leaned down, placing himself flush with Sanji, their bare arousals brushing against each other. Next to his own, Sanji's cock was warm and wet. He could not help himself from grinding their hips together, leaning down to capture the cook's mouth in another open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues desperately danced for a moment or two until Zoro reached broke apart to reach down, and in his large and callused hand he took both Sanji and his hardness in one strong grip, applying heavy pressure as he pumped their lengths in tandem now.

"Oh god, Zoro," Sanji said, writhing under his touch. "Just fucking put yourself inside me."

Zoro shook his head, continuing to rub their bodies together. "Not tonight, Sanji." He didn't explain himself, and the cook didn't protest further. Although enjoying the heat of the moment, and although Zoro could clearly see Sanji's tight puckered opening of his asshole, it felt that an act that intimate would be disloyal to the importance of intercourse. If he did make love to Sanji - make love? no, if he fucked Sanji, it would imply that his feelings for the cook that had caused him to marry the man were returned in full, and that was untrue at this time. So he could not claim the blond that he so desperately wanted to, not until it was a honest act.

Sanji bucked in Zoro's hand, pressing against the swordsman's own dick roughly, which caused Zoro to cry out in surprise. He grasped tightly around his base, trying desperately to hold in the orgasm that was dying to burst free from him. _Not until Sanji does_, he ordered himself.

But it did not appear the cook was far off. He continued to grind into Zoro's hand and arousal without abandon, his face beyond the point of flushed, his eyes scrunched shut and his mouth open and panting. Zoro reached down between them with his other hand and cupped Sanji's balls, pressing them upward against the cook's body.

That did the trick, and crying out in pure pleasure, Sanji's orgasm spurted forth from his arousal, splattering all over his toned chest. As soon as he released, Zoro removed the gag he had on his self control and allowed his own cum to burst from him, drenching the cook in another shower of release. Pulling back from the cook's body, vision hazy with orgasm, Zoro glanced down at Sanji, legs spread, covered in whiteness, taking short and shaky breaths. He lowered himself back on to the cook's body, his bare chest muscles meeting Sanji's own and getting sticky with their mixed releases, their chests sliding against each other with the lubrication, and he placed a soft kiss on Sanji's open lips, a touching of lips and nothing more.

The cook was beautiful. He was beautiful and Zoro couldn't believe Sanji belonged to him, not for a second. It was too wild, too dreamlike. He would wake up someday soon on the Sunny, and the cook would be back to his brash self, and Zoro would have to watch from afar. But this time, it would hurt like a deep ache in his soul, for the swordsman would be pained with the knowledge of what he was like to love the cook, and have to face the facts that the cook loving him back was beyond the expectations of reality.

Yet in this moment, Sanji was kissing him back and Sanji was his. And Zoro would be a fool not to enjoy it while he could.

_A/N: Okkayyy, no sex, but yes, some smuttiness. I hope you like, I'm welcome to suggestions. Please review! Oh, and I will not be posting another chapter for a week, because I am going on vacation and will be without a laptop!_

_So sorry! Love you guys!_


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece, but that doesn't mean I can't do nasty things with their characters. **

_Finally, the cook spoke, in a low and hoarse whisper. "I should have known."_

Zoro was expecting the worst responses, from fear to horror to disgust. But this words completely unsettled him. He shook his head viciously, not meeting Sanji's eyes. "What does that mean, you should have known? How could you have known?"

Sanji snorted. "I'm not stupid, Zoro." At his words, Zoro's hand twitched in his lap. The cook was using his actual name, and thus was being serious. It was nearly too much to bear, but he sat and listened, each word falling like a bullet that was burying itself in his flesh. "Your attitude had changed, and once you told me there was a special somebody in your world for me...I couldn't help but think of...well, it makes more sense now, but I guess, I thought of someone like you."

_No, Sanji_, Zoro begged inwardly. _Don't talk like that. Don't give me hope. Don't you dare_. He could hear the faint clicking of Sanji's lighter as he lit another cigarette. He smelt the tobacco smoke drift in the air, filling the silence with such familiar scent, a scent that made Zoro think of home, of belonging, of all the good things he ever found in his sinful life. But this time it was just hanging in front of him, a reminder of what he could not have. As if he were a smoker himself, Zoro suddenly felt a deep need course through his body at the smell.

"But it makes sense, I suppose. It's like what you said, what happened in your world doesn't mean it will happen here. In your world, I guess I was made...right. I guess I could love you." Sanji sighed heavily. "But that's not something that's meant to happen here."

Zoro felt so pathetic asking it, but he couldn't help himself. His voice came out broken and raspy. "Why? Why not here?"

"Well," Sanji started. He laughed dryly, and from the top of his vision, Zoro could see him run a frustrated hand through his hair that he very rarely touches. "It's clear, isn't it? I'm not gay."

Anger. Rash, red, hot anger pounded through Zoro's bloodstream. He leapt to his feet so that he towered over the cook, who was looking at him, slightly taken aback by the swordsman's mood swing. "Oh no you don't!" Zoro declared, fists bunched at his sides. "Don't you dare try to pull that shit excuse on me again!"

"It's not an excuse," Sanji said, sounding far more exhausted than before. "I'm so -"

"And don't say you're sorry!" Zoro interjected. "Just shut up, shut up, shut up!"

The cook's eyes were wide. He had never seen his crew mate explode with such irrational and emotional anger before, it was astounding. Zoro was cold, controlled, and any heated anger he displayed was never serious to the swordsman, was never close to his heart. Could this issue really incite so many feelings from the stoic, strong foundation Sanji had always thought him to be?

"After we slept together the first time, you told me you couldn't do it again, because _you weren't gay_, and then we kept doing it, and you told me not to kiss you, not to look at you like that_, because you weren't gay._ And then you said you loved me, but took it back the next morning because, guess what, _you weren't gay!_ You kept running off and then coming back for a year, constantly leaving me guessing, constantly giving me grief, all because you insisted that you weren't fucking gay!" Zoro grabbed the injured cook by the collar of his shirt and dragged him off the ground, face so close that when he spat as he screamed, it landed on Sanji's face. "I get it, Sanji, I really do! You aren't gay! But for some reason, you decided you loved me anyway. So if you want to deny me, fine, do it, but don't give me that reason!"

Sanji looked up into the swordsman's face, a face that was contorted in rage, but Zoro's eyes were swimming with unshed tears, and his jaw was quaking, he was on the verge of breaking down. Pity touched the cook's eyes, and before he could process it, a sharp blow sent him flying back down to the ground.

Zoro's hand stung, just as his heart had a moment ago with the look of pity that had graced Sanji's face. He looked at his raised arm and then at the cook's body, still injured and bleeding, tossed on the ground. He had hit Sanji...he had backhanded Sanji. Not during a play fight or a sparring session, but he had hit the man he loved, out of rage, while the man was injured and simply showing him pity. Pity he didn't want, not for a million years, but still, it was a completely unantagonized blow.

Horrified with himself, he stepped backward, looking at his offending hand like it was some demon that had overtaken his body. "Fuck, oh fuck," he whispered. "Sanji, oh fuck, I -" _He what? _What could he say - that he was sorry? that he didn't meant to hurt him? There was no excuse for what he did.

Sanji moved back into a sitting position, and he reached up and lightly touched his sore cheek that was now bright red. He touched it tentatively, and then a bit more probing when he felt that there was no actual damage from the hit. "Why did you hit me, Zoro?" he asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

"There's no excuse," Zoro murmured. "I don't expect you to forgive me, it's okay, I've royally fucked up -"

The cook scoffed. "You've hit me worse before, I don't care."

"But not like this!" Zoro argued. "Not out of anger! This is wrong."

Sanji shrugged. "Yeah, I guess, I'm a bit pissed. But I want to know why."

"Uh..." Zoro suddenly felt rather naked. His eyes flashed to his swords, but he made no move to retrieve them, for he knew it would offend Sanji to interrupt their conversation in this manner. "You...uh...you looked like you pitied me. I didn't want that."

Sanji just looked up at Zoro and smirked. "Now I'm really pissed," he said, but there was a trace of laughter around it.

"Huh?" Zoro said, sounding like all the barbarian the cook made him out to be.

"Cause if I backhanded you for every time you looked at me like that, you wouldn't have a face left, shitty marimo."

"No!" the swordsman gasped. "I told you, I don't pity you - I - I never - what -"

But he stopped his pleading, because beside him, Sanji was laughing, his smile bright on his dirty face, his perfect hands trying to shield it from Zoro's eyes. The swordsman gritted his teeth. The cook was messing with him, after all things, after how serious everything was right now, and the cook wanted to make a damn joke out of it. How typical.

"I'm glad you think this is so funny," Zoro growled.

Sanji chuckled a couple times more. "Hey, it's a lot to take in. I think I deserve a laugh or two, right?"

Zoro shook his head ruefully. "Bastard," he murmured. Then, from inside the building that was behind them, he heard a loud crashing of a thousand rocks falling and the roar of his captain's battle cry. "I think we should join the others, though." He glanced down at the cook, "Would you be adverse to discussing this later?"

The cook raised one curly eyebrow. "Jesus, you really aren't the same Zoro."

The swordsman paused. What had he done wrong this time?

"I really don't think moss-head Zoro knows how to use words like _adverse_ in context," Sanji explained, a grin twitching at the corners of his lips.

"Oh, fuck off," Zoro muttered. He didn't fell as though it was necessary to inform Sanji that it was the cook he was married to who had used that line first, and often enough, to delay their arguments, that Zoro picked it up himself. He honest to god couldn't define the word even with a dictionary in his hands, but nobody needed to know that. Instead, he cut off the cook's teasing by walking to his swords and depositing them back in his haramaki, and then he took three quick stride to the cook and scooped the wounded man up in his arms, bridal style.

"Oi!" Sanji cursed, wriggling violently in the swordsman's arms. "Put me down or I'll kill you, shitty marimo!"

"Put you down?" Zoro said. "So you can what, crawl back to the Thousand Sunny?"

Sanji bit his lip, a defeated thinking gesture that Zoro recognized. "Well, at least don't carry me like this! It's embarrassing! I hate it!"

Zoro's expression was smug. "I know," he admitted. "That's why I do it."

The cook's face blanched, and he stopped struggling. "No way," he said feebly. "Don't tell me you've carried me like this before."

With the man he loved in his arms and no way to escape, the swordsman felt a bit braver than he should have. "Course I have," he replied honestly. "You didn't think I'd let my bride walk into our new home together, did you?"

"Bride!" Sanji protested.

Zoro laughed loudly, his face stretching into a wide and genuine grin that he saved for his closest friends and the one he loved. Still smiling, he looked down at the cook's furious face and shook his head. "I'm just teasing, curly brow. I wouldn't make an okama out of you. I like you, the way you are...a man, yes, but Sanji." _My Sanji_, the words unsaid hung in the air.

But Sanji at the moment was looking up at Zoro as though his vision had just returned to him, as though he had been in a dark place and finally seen the light. His pupils were dilated and his jaw was slack. Zoro shook him lightly in his arms, his smile fading. "Oi, what is it? You okay?"

"Yeah..." Sanji said softly. "I just..." he glanced away. "I just never realized how nice your smile is. You don't..." he cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "You don't smile a lot like that."

It took all of the self control and training instilled in Zoro throughout his lifetime to not claim the cook's mouth after those words right then and there. But he could not stop a giddy grin from gracing his face, everything about him lighting up like an infatuated school boy. He felt, for the first time in years, butterflies in his stomach. It was unmanly and unsettling, and he loved it completely.

Sanji didn't seem to enjoy this change in Zoro's attitude. He pointed to the nearest staircase and said. "Go up there, I can hear them rampaging around."

Still happier than should be legally allowed, Zoro nodded and headed in the proper direction for once. "Yes, my bride," he said jauntily.

"Oi!" Sanji's foot twitched to show his anticipation to hit the swordsman.

"You can hit me later, princess," Zoro chided. "Chopper would have a fit if you did that now."

"Call me princess or bride again and Chopper will have a fit over your condition, too."

The swordsman chuckled, making his way up the stairs. "Whatever you say, wifey." And then he proceed to ignore all the protests and wriggling from the blond man in his arms, because he knew they were not meant with all the nastiness that his curses may imply. He knew that despite the fact that the cook and him were off to a rocky start, it was a start, and in the direction he hoped. Besides, there was a first class suit and a date waiting for the man eventually, and he would be damned if those didn't go to use. So, despite feeling it was rather vain and naive, for this moment, and this moment only, the swordsman allowed himself to hope.

ZOSAN

This hope was short lived, for by the time they arrived back at the Thousand Sunny, the depth of the situation had been revealed. The entire crew was seated around the table and were served tea, courtesy of Robin. This ordeal lasted longer than it should have, or course, because it rubbed the cook in all the wrong ways to have anybody else serve the crew, especially one of the ladies, but when Franky threatened to nail his feet down again, he shut up pretty quickly.

Over their drinks, Robin explained what they had anticipated the intentions of the slave traders to be, and to their dismay, Sanji confirmed it. He added that the buyer was revealed to be a Celestial Dragon, which Zoro and a handful of the other crew mates did not know about, but it elicited a look of intense worry on the older and more educated members, which did not bode well.

Finally, Sanji said, "And I presume they took off without worrying about me to get reinforcements...I think he'll be back. He said he made a Vivre Card of me."

"Vivre Card?" the crew echoed, each having various reactions. Usopp dropped his head to the table and muttered about how doomed they were. Chopper's tiny hooves covered his open mouth, and Franky ruffled his drooping hair.

Zoro had no idea what a Vivre Card is, and he certainly didn't want to ask, but it looked like everyone else was educated in this manner besides him. "Uh..." he started. "Sounds bad."

Usopp scoffed. "Bad?" he whined. "Zoro, with a Vivre Card of Sanji they can track him down from anywhere, no matter where we run! It's like a compass pointing straight at him!"

"So, like a tracking device," Zoro said. All he got in exchange were blank looks. Nevermind, no computers here - just magical fruits and magical cards and such. Perfectly normal.

Sanji was in the corner, listening into the conversation impassively, stretching his sore muscles and rotating the joints around his freshly bandaged feet. "Well, you guys don't need to worry about it," he commented.

"What does that mean, Sanji-san?" Brook asked, glancing down at him.

Zoro noticed that Sanji felt compelled to stand, for he recognized the curling of the man's muscles that he often did before he leaped to his feet, but then recalling his injuries, he relaxed again. "Once I heal up, I'll take care of these guys by myself. I don't want everyone getting involved."

"Sanji-kun!" Nami admonished. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"Especially not you, Nami-swan, and you, Robin-chwan." He shook his head. "I could never forgive myself if you got damaged trying to protect me."

"Ugh!" Nami threw her hands in the air. "Sanji-kun, how many times have you gotten injured protecting the rest of us? You're being stupid! We're nakama, it doesn't matter!"

Again, the cook shook his head, trying to look as firm and strong as he could on his back with injured feet. "No, Nami dearest, it's my duty to protect you, it's different -"

"No it isn't," came a quiet whisper from the other side of the room. The crew all looked away from the exchange between Nami and Sanji, to where their captain sat, sipping his tea at the end of the table, looking all together rather serene. He had been his childlike self after the battle today, delighted to see Sanji, pissed about his wounds, raving and demanding food like usual. But this conversation seemed to have subdued the young man into acting twice his age instead of half his age.

"Luffy," Sanji started, but the captain didn't want to hear it.

"No, Sanji," he insisted. "Nami is right. You're being stupid. We're nakama, we protect each other. And if someone wants to take you away, we won't let them." He placed his hands on each side of his tea cup and glared down at Sanji, the insult that he had taken to the cook's words clear in his eyes. "Stop acting like nakama is a one way street! You protect us, we protect you!"

While the cook was trying to stutter out a response to this, the rest of the crew mates continued to interrupt his protests.

"Yeah, Sanji, Luffy is right!" Chopper chirped. "You need to stop letting yourself get hurt so much, let us do some of the fighting for you!"

"It's captain's orders, cook-san," Robin interjected. "Besides, I have always been able to take care of myself."

Usopp nodded. "Just because you're crazy strong doesn't mean you have to do everything on your own!"

"That's what nakama is about!" Nami insisted.

"And we're nakama, right, Sanji-san?" Brook asked.

Franky lifted his sunglasses to meet the cook's eyes. "You wouldn't want to go insulting our loyalty to you, would you, cook bro?"

It was clear that Sanji felt utterly helpless, listening to the comments of the crew, enforcing what he should have already known after so many months at sea with them, words that never truly sunk in. All of the sudden, with the force of a Gomu Gomu no Pistol, the fact that he was loved, needed, and wanted by his nakama was hitting him. Eventually, his eyes met the swordsman who sat nearest to him in the room.

"I've already told you this, idiot," Zoro said. "Not my fault you wanted to act pigheaded and make a show out of it. Now man up and accept it."

As if accepting a dangerously worded contract, Sanji nodded slowly, unsurely, his eyes flittering around the room. Regardless, it appeared to placate the crew, especially the captain, who immediately pushed away his tea cup with distaste.

"Good!" he exclaimed. "So we'll kick their ass when they come and that's that! In the mean time, Sanji!" He pointed at his stomach. "Food!"

"I can't walk, you idiot!" Sanji yelled, still helpless on the floor.

Zoro got up and bend down to pick up the cook again, which resulted in the man scrambling away from him furiously. "Oh hell no, marimo, no way is that gonna happen again!" His face blushed recalling all the taunts and chuckling that he had received on the way back to the ship from Luffy at Zoro carrying him like he was a girl.

The swordsman held out his hand steadily to Sanji. "Not like that," he said. "Get on my back. You be the hands, and I'll be your legs." The cook eyed his hand warily. "I don't know about here, but the Sanji I knew always used to say _you do what I can't and I'll do what you can't_."

That seemed to be enough for the cook, and with a helping hand from Zoro he found himself swiftly on the other man's back, his hands draped over Zoro's shoulders, his legs hooked around the man's middle. The swordsman fought to urge to relish the delicious feeling of Sanji's long legs around him once more, his thin arms near his neck, his hips pressed into the small of his back.

Luffy diffused the tension rapidly, though, by leaping in the air and clapping his hands and feet together, proclaiming. "Yeah! Food! Food! Food and meat! I'm so hungry!"

"So you're my legs, right?" Sanji muttered in Zoro's ear. An electrical current zapped down the swordsman's spine as the cook's light breath brushed against him with these words, as his raspy voice filled his senses. He nodded.

"Good," Sanji replied. "Then kick him for me, would you?"

Zoro smirked. "My pleasure." And although it was not the swordsman's speciality, he delivered a full roundhouse kick to his rubber captain, sending him flying into the wall of the room, which he bounced off of with a resounding snap. The rest of the crew, as well as him, quickly dispersed, leaving the cook and his thick-handed assistant to do their work. They would not say it themselves, but they were all starving for a good meal as well.

The process was slow and frustrating. Sanji would tell Zoro what to get from the fridge and Zoro would grab the wrong things. Then Zoro had to turn around so Sanji could just collect what he wanted without being bothered by Zoro. He wound up chopping vegetables with his hands reaching around the swordsman's waist, his neck craned over Zoro's shoulder so he could see his fingers work. He told Zoro to go to the oven and the swordsman got so turned around that they had to wait an extra five minutes more than planned while the thing preheated, and then a pot of water nearly boiled over because Zoro got confused again with the proper location.

So it was easy to say that although the two men had many things that they needed to discuss, it was far from getting done, just like the meal, because tempers and tensions were flaring high and patience was wearing thin. Even in his own home, Zoro was kept out of the kitchen, because more than anything else, that was Sanji's territory, just like Sanji didn't lay his hands on Zoro's swords. But now, Zoro wished desperately that he had at least paid attention to the cook's habits when making a meal, for now Sanji's opinion of him was surely plummeting.

"Just put it down and leave it there, marimo," Sanji ordered. "No, don't touch it, shit! Just give it to me!" Zoro placed down the dish of spices and let Sanji's hands pick them up. Then the cook gave the swordsman a nudge by tightening his left thigh, indicating which way he wanted the man to move. This was body language that Zoro could understand, and after that, things began to come along more smoothly.

As they waited for the last of the meal to finish cooking, Zoro leaned back and allowed the cook to sit on the counter, and finally disentangled himself from Sanji's limbs. He turned around the face the blond man he had been helping for the past hour, and was surprised to see the man's face was flushed.

"You feeling okay, cook?" Zoro asked.

"Yeah," Sanji answered. "Just difficult explaining things to a meathead like you."

Zoro scowled. "Well it'd be easier if you'd give better instructions, baka, instead of _grab a teaspoon of alderwood smoked sea salt_. Here I thought that salt was salt."

Sanji scoffed. "Don't bitch, you enjoyed it." Zoro raised an eyebrow at the cook, just what was he implying? "You enjoyed it, right?" Sanji asked again. "I mean...me on your back...you touching me..." he groaned, embarrassed. "Nevermind."

It went without saying, at least in Zoro's mind, that of course he enjoyed it. He enjoyed being around Sanji no matter what, even when they were fighting for a week and the blond wouldn't talk to him, even when he was flirting with women like he was being paid by the hour to do so. He would always enjoy being around the cook. But he understood, in a vague manner, what Sanji was implying. "I guess," he said. "But I like it better when I touch you and _you _enjoy it."

A furious blush threatened to turn the cook's pale complexion completely scarlet. "Well, dream on, marimo," he growled. "That'll never happen."

Zoro leaned back on the opposite counter, facing Sanji. "I don't know," he conceded. "You may be a different Sanji, and you may be right about not being the same man I remember...but so far, you really are exactly the same..." He smirked devilishly. "And I'd bet all of Nami's treasure that your body responds the same."

Scowling, Sanji made to kick the man but pulled his foot back at the proper time so that way it didn't connect. He wanted his wounds to heal as soon as possible. "Don't even try it, pervert."

"Oi," Zoro said. "I don't want to be called that by you, love cook."

"I'm not the one looking at me thinking perverted things!"

Zoro pushed off the counter with both hands and stepped into the cook's personal bubble. He swayed carefully between Sanji's two legs. "Oh really?" he began. "So you don't think anything perverted looking at me?"

"I told you!" Sanji insisted. "I'm not -"

"Gay," Zoro finished for him. "I get it, I know." He set his hands down lightly on Sanji's knees and pushed them ever so slightly up the man's thighs. The cook tried to wriggle away but there wasn't enough room for him to do so as the swordsman advanced. "So I guess you've never considered what a mouth that can wield a sword can do to you, huh?" he asked, inching his hands up the man's lean thighs again, reaching midway. "And I guess you'd never think about what I would look like under you?"

That did the trick. Sanji took in a sharp breath and stopped trying to move away, which allowed the swordsman to sneak his hands up until they were nearly at the man's pelvis. "Under me?" he gasped.

Zoro leaned in, under the guise that he was going to whisper his response in the cook's ear, but instead he found the sensitive place where the man's pulse beat rapidly in his neck, tucked an inch under the man's ear, and lightly nipped at it, and then kissed and licked the faint redness away. Under his tongue, Sanji's blood went wild, thumping in anticipation and anxiously, completely winded that a man, no not any man, but Zoro was doing such things to his body.

"I love surrendering myself to you," Zoro whispered before brushing his lips against Sanji's ear, dipping his tongue deftly into the blond man's exposed inner lobe. Involuntarily, the cook's body twitched closer to the swordsman's body, which was giving him such pleasure, and a deep thrill pooled in Zoro's stomach as he felt the telltale hardness in the cook's pants that was pressed against his belly.

But before Zoro could use this bodily reaction to bring action to the scene, the smell of smoke reached both of the men's nostrils. Sanji shoved Zoro away roughly, sending him crashing into the stainless steel fridge. "Fuck!" the cook cursed. "The pasta, you marimo bastard, you made me forget the pasta!"

Sanji dropped off the counter on to his wounded feet and supported himself on the ledge until he reached the stove, where he turned down the temperate on the boiling water and worked furiously to salvage the noodles that hadn't stuck to the edge of the pot, causing some of them to burn. Zoro just stood there in shock. It wasn't the first time that he'd been cockblocked by burning food, but it never failed to put him in the worst mood afterward.

The cook had saved the meal, as he always did, and was now leaning back on his heels, balancing precariously, trying to finish preparing the plates before setting them out as Zoro watched, knowing that if he tried to help the cook now he'd be pushed away. His guess was confirmed as Sanji pointed a threatening serving spoon at him.

"Try that shit again, asshole, and I'll burn you next time, got it?" Sanji said.

Zoro felt his face fall, and he tried to collect it before the cook noticed, but he somehow managed, and seeing it, the cook's face fell as well, and he lowered the menacing sauce-stained spoon.

"Look, I know it's shitty for you, but you need to understand it's weird for me, too, and I'm trying to be cool, got it?" He placed the spoon in the sink and rinsed it off quickly, and then, supporting himself on the counter, looked down and away from the swordsman. "Just call the crew to dinner, you all must be starving." Zoro made to move, but before he could reach the door, Sanji added, "And I'll talk...if you want...I guess. We can get drinks later or something. God knows I need one."

"Sure thing, Sanji," Zoro replied. He then left the cook to his own devices, although the man could hardly walk, and god forbid he got splinters in those feet he would never hear the last of it from Chopper. The first mate opened the door to the galley, and if the aroma wasn't warning enough, called them all to dinner, stepping aside before he was taken out by a Gomu Gomu no Rocket, allowing his closest friends to trample past him.

As he watched them all gather around the table, he realized that perhaps this was what Pirate Hunter Zoro got to feel everyday. Yes, there was the fear and the threat of losing one of them around every corner. But because of that, there was the indescribable joy from ending the day surrounded by all the people you loved, and being able to relish in the sheer joy that they were still alive and with you. Because of this, Pirate Hunter Zoro got to live every second like it was his last. It was like the parallelism of the sea, a body of nature that can bring so much death as much as it can bring so much life; such was the price of freedom, and such was the life of a pirate.

_Maybe being a pirate isn't all bad_, Zoro considered. But then he looked across the room at Sanji, a Sanji that was still so far away from him, a Sanji that he would not lay down next to tonight, and he still felt that he'd rather live ten thousand fruitless days without this feeling if he could just have that man back, because there was no way the swordsman's soul could be free without Sanji to release it.

_A/N: Back from vacation, and I know this chapter is super fluffy, but I hope you like! Read and review! I will try to update again soon to make up for lost time :)_


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: Oda owns One Piece. I own a futon. We are very different people.**

Mister Sanji Roronoa woke up in the morning encased in the warm, strong arms of his husband. For a second he passed a glance at the man he had laid next to for over three years, his green, soft hair mussed and his brow completely smooth in his sleep. He watched as his golden earrings twinkled in the light leaking through the curtains and smiled wistfully. Looking down in the mornings was never a good idea, for then he would never want to get out of bed.

But out of bed he got, carefully disentangling himself from the other man's limbs, a practice he had perfected over the years without waking the swordsman up. Although it was assumed by most that the marimo could sleep through anything - and he mainly could - for some reason when Sanji left his side in the morning, the man would always be disturbed in his sleep. Sure enough, Zoro's brow furrowed, and Sanji leaned down and placed his traditional kiss atop the worry lines, and the man's muscles relaxed once more as he faded back into a deep sleep.

The blond continued to watch his lover as he got dressed in the dim morning light, contemplating the changes that had occurred as of late. For one thing, his husband believes he is a pirate and has no knowledge of their lives together, except for what Sanji has informed him. Then, he went and got himself drugged and nearly raped at a club by an old friend. For another, he managed to get his dumb marimo ass involved in the brutal market of human trafficking, and within a week or so, shit was about to go down. And lastly, this same frustrating and impossible man still seemed troubled when Sanji left his bed, and although he had just come to this truth a day or so ago, the man seemed willing to participate in sexual actions with the cook.

_Well, the sex always came easy, didn't it?_ Sanji thought to himself. As he recalled, when Zoro and him began their relationship, it began with friendship, and once it stumbled into the land of sexual tension, they were swift to meet each other in the bedroom...bathroom, countertops, closets, cars...mainly everywhere they could get their hands on each other. But it also involved a lot of them running away from their feelings, Sanji dashing off because he was unable to face his sexuality, and then, later on when the prospect of marriage came into the conversation, Zoro dashing off because he was terrified of the depth of his own feelings.

The cook went to the kitchen and began to fix up breakfast, preparing batter for some sweet pancakes, which wasn't really his thing, but he liked to spoil the swordsman with them occasionally. As he mixed the batter and began to concoct his own syrup, he thought back to the issues that Zoro had with their relationship, and a deep cold reminder of dread settled in his stomach.

Of course, there was enough in their relationship to worry about, with outside issues pressing down on all sides, as well as the entire confusion over which world was reality in his husband's mind. But the nagging fear that Sanji couldn't subside was what Zoro had admitted in his state of confusion regarding his assassin occupation. Months ago, Assassin Roronoa Zoro had turned his back on the underground business, and whatever flaws the man had, he was a man of his word. So why did he return to the business behind Sanji's back? And even more so, why was he saving up money in a bank account outside of their joint one? I mean, it was clear that he was placing the money there to first and foremost hide it from Sanji, but it felt as though the swordsman was implying he was saving up for something. The most aggravating thing was, Sanji had no idea what he would be saving for that he would feel he needed to hide from Sanji, and even more aggravating was the fact that the swordsman currently had no knowledge of the matter either.

_Maybe he was saving for an expensive divorce_, an evil voice whispered in the back of his mind. He shrugged it away. Before all this memory business went down, Zoro loved him like he always had, didn't he?

_Let's get real, Sanji_, his counterpart started again, a bit braver this time. _He was nearly running for the hills at the thought of marriage, so what made you think he really wanted to bear even more responsibilities_?

No! The cook insisted to himself. He rehashed the facts he knew about his lover's emotions, a man he knew more intimately at times then he knew himself. Zoro was never afraid of responsibility, he was just afraid of feeling the depth of the emotion he felt for Sanji, feeling love, when it had been so rare and far between in his life. He was afraid of love because Zoro had believed at that time that he was a monster...

Oh, fuck. Sanji had been dolloping batter on to the griddle, and the realization had hit him like a freight train, causing him to put down slightly too much. He rapidly fixed the situation with the pancakes, but the epiphany still rattled in his mind like a beast released from a cage.

Zoro thought he was a monster, an assassin, a sinner, irredeemable and destined for whatever hell awaited. He had accepted that he may be loved in this life, but this concept of himself was deep seated in his character, Sanji knew, and was not about to be shaken off with time. Due to how they were planning on advancing their relationship, of course he would be saving up to run. If Zoro believed he was a monster, then he believed he was unfit to be a ...

The cook flipping the pancake, still arguing with himself. "But it was his idea," he mumbled aloud. "He was the one who said I'd make a good father."

"Who said you'd make a good father?" asked a voice from behind him, and it wasn't the voice inside his head.

"AH!" Sanji spun around, losing control of the bowl cupped in his arms, and had to scramble to get it back in control again. He leaned against the countertop, clutching his heart, looking at his husband who was standing wearily in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was wearing a deep jade colored robe that Sanji had bought him two Christmases ago. Underneath, his rippling, tan muscles stretched with the ease and grace of a lion, a beautiful creature of another world that sleeps all day and yet could pounce and kill in an instant.

"You scared the shit out of me, marimo," Sanji gasped, trying not to wonder if Zoro was wearing anything under his robe. Knowing the moss head, he probably wasn't. And he was probably going to sit on the barstool with his legs slightly open, so the gown would fall apart just enough to reveal the upper parts of his inner thighs and no more...

The cook curled his lip in distaste as the swordsman did exactly that, and turned back to his cooking, trying not to make any heavy moves on the man like he did yesterday. He didn't want to chase him away, no matter how much he wanted the man's strong, toned, tanned body beneath him...or inside him, pressing him in all the right places... But what was even more incentive was the fact that Sanji did not want a repeat of last time, when they had been _just sex _and _good friends _for so long until he couldn't bear the weight of his love for the other man crushing down upon him. That was way to much waiting to bear, and he didn't need the swordsman getting the wrong idea from all the romping and seduction.

"I asked you," the marimo growled in his deep morning voice, "Who said you'd be a good father?"

Sanji paused. "Oh, uh..." The cook felt the sudden urge to lie, he must lie, it was way, way, way too soon. "Luffy." He fumbled for a reason, and added, "you know, he thinks that anybody who feeds him is a good parent figure. That boy's mind is ruled by his stomach and that alone."

"Mm," Zoro nodded, accepting this feeble excuse for a lie. "He's sort of right though."

_Not again_, Sanji cried to himself. He couldn't go through this conversation again, not when all the hope in his heart had been ripped to shreds the past couple of days. He dished out the finished pancakes, topped then with a selection of fruit and whipped cream, and placed the syrup on the table next to Zoro for the man to use as his discretion. "You must be crazy," he said, turning swiftly away from the man so he could not see his confused face, peeling a banana for his own breakfast.

"Well, I don't know," Zoro muttered. "Just never thought about it where we are, I mean, we're fucking pirates, we don't have time to think about kids." He bit into the pancake, and Sanji stole a glance out of the corner of his eye to see Zoro's eyes light up in delight. Good, he still loved them. "But from what I've seen, you're patient and...I don't know..." Zoro stabbed at his pancakes a bit too hard, and the plate screeched at the pressure. "You're, like, nurturing or whatever the word is."

At this, the cook spit up the bit of fruit that had been in his mouth. "Nurturing?" he screeched. "Are you implying I'm motherly, you shit head marimo?"

Zoro paused, chewing on his pancakes thoughtfully, which was always an odd expression to see on the muscle-head. "I guess you sort of are, curly brow," he said with a smirk, but then his expression grew more serious. "Nami said once that you act like that because you never had a mother."

The cook's face fell. Of course Zoro wouldn't remember. "I had a mother," he whispered.

"Oh, sorry," the swordsman offered.

"It's okay," Sanji replied. "She died when I was very young. I did love her though. She was beautiful."

Across the countertop, the marimo's eyes seemed to soften just in the slightest way, and Sanji noted that he didn't squirm in his seat like he often did when things got emotional, like a nervous child or something. Eventually, he scoffed, and said, "You think all women are beautiful," and then he met Sanji's eyes. "But I believe you this time."

"Why's that?" Sanji asked.

Zoro shrugged, and this time he squirmed in his seat. The cook was getting too close for comfort, he could tell. "I'm sure she was, if she looked anything like..." his voice petered out into a mumble too deep for Sanji to hear. The cook leaned forward and cocked an ear, indicating he hadn't caught the last of it.

Sighing, the swordsman repeated, the softest of blushes touching his tanned cheeks, "I'm sure she was, if she looked anything like you, Sanji."

Oh, god. Sanji felt like his heart was in his throat. When was the last time that Zoro had called him beautiful? He used to hear it everyday after they first got married, and at first he used to protest that word as too feminine, until Zoro explained his reasoning why he used the word, in a surprisingly poetic manner for the uneducated brute. If only the other man knew right now how breathtaking Sanji found him, not just in his perfect body and his handsome face - with a composed, strong jawline and expressive, thin eyes - but rather how in awe the cook often was of the swordsman's deep set loyalty and determination and god, his gentleness when the man made love to him.

How he missed making love. It seemed like another lifetime ago. Now he never knew if he'd hear those words again.

"Well," Sanji muttered to himself, cutting through the palpable tension in the air. "I need to get to work." He collected his things in his suit pockets, not sparing the swordsman a backward glance, for he was leaving without a goodbye kiss once more, a kiss that had always gotten him through the days.

"Oi, do you just leave like that?" Zoro called after him as he made his way to the door.

"Huh?" Sanji asked, turning around. "No, I leapt out the fucking window, what do you meant, shit head?"

"Don't be smart, curly brow," the swordsman growled back. "Your my husband, right? Do I just let you leave without a kiss? Or at least a reminder that I'm not afraid to hit a woman if she tries to seduce my man?"

The cook felt like his jaw was hitting the ground, and his keys did as they fell from his limp hands. He hastily bent down to pick them up. "You...uh..." he bit his bottom lip, a nervous habit he hadn't done in years. "You give me a kiss goodbye."

And just like that, Zoro was at his side, his thick, callused hands resting on Sanji's hips, holding him close to the man but not against him. "How do I kiss you?" he asked, his voice husky, as he leaned in close to the shorter blond in his grip.

Sanji's head was spinning. "Just...uh..." Damn this marimo for still having this effect on him after all these years! "Just how couples do, you know, a kiss." This was a lie, of course. Depending on the swordsman's mood, he would sometimes pin Sanji up against a wall and ravage him fully until the cook had to stumble into work all sex ruffled, and sometimes he would kiss him softly and sweetly, with just the smallest hint of tongue, just like the man had kissed him on his wedding day.

"Okay," Zoro said in reply. He angled his head, and his lips met Sanji's very delicately, and he brushed the knuckles of his hand oh-so-gently across the stubble on the blond man's chin. This touch never failed to amaze the cook, for a man with such extreme physical power, a man who could and had snapped spines with his two hands, was now caressing Sanji with both his fingers and lips as though the cook was the most precious delicacy in the seven seas. The only other object that Zoro gave such love and care in his handling was Wado Ichimonji, and the cook now knew what the sword meant to him.

The kiss was not just any peck, and what was Sanji expecting - the marimo never gave simple pecks. The kiss was deep and sensual, as Zoro's tongue lapped out smoothly and ran across Sanji's lip, and the cook allowed his tongue to touch Zoro's own for just a second. And then, after applying just the slightest pressure into their lips, Zoro pulled back just as gently as he had graced in. A goodbye kiss, just like the cook was used to, just like the kiss on their wedding day.

He ducked his head to hide the emotions rushing up the surface. In spite of everything going on, this was his Zoro, deep down, and he would do well not to forget it.

"But if you even mention the thought of hitting a lady," Sanji growled, changing the mood to ease his own discomfort. "I'll ruin our apartment throwing you around it, so help me God."

Zoro chuckled, his mood apparently appeased by the kiss. "Go to work, cook."

And Sanji did just that. He needed to take his mind off of everything and immerse himself with turning out hundreds of gourmet dishes an hour for all the high end, prissy upper crusts that were bound to consume his day.

ZOSAN

It was three hours later, and Zoro was awake, which was not what he had planned. After Sanji had left, he decided to wash away his roiling emotions as well as his half-erect arousal in a cold shower. After that, he planned a heavy workout and a nap. But not even a half hour into his workout, completely uninvited, Ace and Luffy had burst through his front door.

"Zoro!" Luffy had called, and Zoro had dropped his weights just in time for Luffy to leap on top of him in a rather overly friendly hug. After friendly greeting with the eldest and chasing them both away from the fridge with two unsheathed blades (he was not going grocery shopping again with the cook any time soon), he eventually got them to tell him what they wanted.

"Sabo can't teach his classes at the dojo today," Ace explained.

"Why not?"

Ace looked at Luffy, and Luffy pouted until he eventually murmured, "I cooked for him because he was mad and I didn't want him to be. It always works with you, Zoro, when you're mad at Sanji!"

"And Sabo actually ate it, because he's too soft on the idiot," Ace cursed, shaking his head.

"What does that have to do with him not being able to work?" Zoro wondered aloud.

"Food poisoning," Luffy answered, as if it was obvious that anything the rubber boy had prepared would clearly give the consumer indigestion. And, in retrosepct, Zoro supposed it was quite obvious.

"So you want me to cover for him, is that it?" Zoro asked. The brothers had pouted and pulled his sleeve and begged and made promises they couldn't keep in a million years until the swordsman conceded.

And now he was awake, in the afternoon, at the _ASL Martial Arts Academy_ in Queens, New York. First off, Zoro had no idea how far Queens was from where Sanji and him resided, and he couldn't believe that Luffy managed to get to that place alone some mornings, because after stumbling from subway train to subway train, Zoro's sense of direction was more than turned around, it was spinning. He had glanced at the map for a total of one second, but the complexity of the routes was so intense that he had to look away or he was in danger of loosing his breakfast to nausea.

Finally here, and dressed in traditional kendo garb that he had not worn in a while, he reflected on the classes he was covering for Sabo today. He first had a basic Kenjutsu class with children aged ten to twelve, then an Iaito Kendo class with children aged twelve to fourteen, and finally a basic Kendo class of kids aged...ugh...six to eight? Ace and Luffy had to be kidding him.

But, first things came first. When the children arrived, they were talking amongst themselves, which immediately grated on Zoro's nerves, but Ace and Luffy seemed not to mind at all as they ushered the children to change into their proper clothing, a room for both girls and boys, Zoro noted, which had lockers for the children to deposit their school things. The swordsman was surprised that so many of the children, no, all of the children seemed to attend school. But he supposed it was the norm here.

He sat in the front of his room and waited with Wado Ichimonji, which Ace and Luffy had encouraged him to bring, oddly enough, set in front of him. The children arrived, and although they were still chattering as they made their way to the door, the moment they say him, a strange and stern man, they fell silent. Desperately, Zoro watched with amusement as they tried to rearrange themselves into a pattern of seniority, as was traditional. When they had finally lined up, Zoro watched in expectation as the students passed their bokken, bamboo swords, from their left hand to their right, and then his face fell in distaste as the students all fumbled throw the bowing procedure, most glancing at each other to get through it, and some of them missing it completely.

Eventually, the children stilled into movement and looked at Zoro, their eyes wary, knowing that he would be displeased.

"I am Roronoa Zoro, and I will be teaching Sabo Sensei's classes today. You may call me Roronoa Sensei."

"Good afternoon, Roronoa Sensei," the children droned in perfect harmony. Usually Zoro would reprimand them from speaking out of turn, but they all seemed to have spoken in tandem, as if it was some tradition, and he didn't want to step on the toes of this odd culture in this odd city.

"Let's start with learning how to bow properly," he began.

The children groaned, and Zoro looked up at them. His glare may have been a little heavy, for the students all fell into a shocked and quivering silence. Attempted to look less scary, which really was quite difficult for Pirate Hunter Zoro, he admonished the group, saying, "The way of the sword is not a discipline to be taken lightly. You must show your determination to learn and your self control from the moment you walk in the room. Bowing before one's sensei is a necessary preparation for any lesson. If you cannot bow properly, then you will never deserve to hold a true katana."

At these words, the faces in front of him blanched, but they made no more moans and groans about basics. The rest of the class passed with ease, despite the sloppiness of the students, because for some reason, they seemed to have been motivated by his speech, and seemed more inclined to tolerate his extreme strict attention to detail. They bowed properly at the close of the lesson and left in relative silence. It was only until the door closed behind them that they all broke out into loud, obnoxious chatter once more.

Zoro heard one child say, "He's so cool, though, did you see those earrings!" But the child was rebutted by a young girl who said, "I guess, but he scared me, he's so serious, even more than Sabo Sensei!"

The next class that day was the more advanced class, and Zoro was pleased to see that they entered the room orderly enough, bowed properly, and listened to his introduction. After he did so, they always echoed the previous classes words by saying _Good afternoon, Roronoa Sensei_. He winced at the speaking out of turn - definitely a custom of the city.

He had the class to run through the basic forms without bokken at first to get a feel for their level. They were far more serious and more skilled than the younger class, and while this pleased Zoro immensely, he was put out at how far behind they were. When he was their age, he had already taken the necessary steps to master three sword style. Then again, he supposed he would have to admit he was a bit different that the average student of the sword.

He dismissed the class at the end of the allotted time, and they bowed respectfully, but none of them made a move to leave. Eventually, a girl in the front who had short raven hair much like Kuina, spoke up.

"Roronoa Sensei," she started, "We...uh, that is, everybody, you know...we've heard of you and lots of us are fans and we were wondering..." She blushed furiously. "Could we have your autograph?"

Zoro's eyes widened, for out of all the requests he expected the girl to ask, this was the farthest removed. An autograph? Was he famous or something? Well, regardless, that was not in the Pirate Hunter's books. He did not do autographs, no matter how flattering it may be to have an exceptional young student of the sword, who looked just like Kuina, practically begging him for it.

"No," he answered stiffly. The class seemed to sag in disappointment at his response.

"How about a demonstration?" came from a younger boy, who was a red head and had seemed rather eager to prove himself in the past hour. "My brother says it's a trick when you use three swords, and that it's impossible in real life. He's sees it's part of television business."

Television? Zoro recalled the black box that was sitting in his main room at home. The one with the exaggerated plays and awful swordsmanship. Well he certainly had no part in that, whatever it was, and he took even more dislike to the word _trick_. He knew he was being goaded, but fine, if they wanted a demonstration, they would get one.

"Just one demonstration," the swordsman responded, and he rose and went to the door, calling for Ace or Luffy, who had just finished classes of their own and were seeing kids out the door. Behind him, he heard his own students muttering to each other in excitement. So much for disciplined.

"Have something I can cut?" he asked the brothers, as he reached for the things he brought and took out his other two swords. It felt insulting to use them in such a manner, rather than to cut down an opponent as necessary, but then again, he'd used them to take down trees and other ignoble purpose before. A demonstration wouldn't wound their pride overmuch.

"Oh! I told you he'd do a demonstration for this class!" Luffy exclaimed to Ace, who grumbled and handed his brother five dollars.

"Yeah," Ace responded. "Send them to the back, you keep some ridiculous boulders back there to cut up when you visit. You say it's the only way you can get real practice." He grimaced at the swordsman. "And you've been asking us to get steel lately, since apparently you can cut that too, but who am I to judge?"

Zoro smirked, and taking his three swords in hand, motioned for the class to follow him to the back. When they had all lined up in the proper order again, he unsheathed his three swords from their sayas, placing Wado in his mouth, and faced a boulder that was about the height of his body and just as wide. It was rusted and appeared it had been removed from a construction sight. He stilled for one moment, listening to the breath of the stone, and then with a swift grace he was very accustomed to, delivered an Onigiri cut to the stone, cleaving it neatly into three pieces.

"No fucking way!" the red head who had challenged Zoro breathed. The rest of the class expressed similar delight. Placing his blades back in their sheaths, he strapped them back on his waist and motioned the children to the door.

"If you want to do that one day, you will have to practice a lot harder," he told them. His lecturing words had them mumbling as they walked out the door.

After the children had left, he placed away his swords with his things, for his next class was with young children, who were learned strictly kendo at this point, and thus there would be no need for swords nor did Zoro want to put them in unreasonable danger.

He steeled himself when he heard the last wave of children start to arrive, as they headed for the lockers and their mothers and fathers said they would be back soon or be waiting in the other room. They were loud, they were trampling around like wild, and Zoro really didn't know if he'd be able to control his temper.

When the door opened, the children were thrust upon him like a storm. They lined up haphazardly, and although they eventually began to fall into silence, a handful of them continued to mutter until Zoro loudly cleared his throat. Then, they all looked up, already frightened half to death by the strange man seated in front of them.

He made his usual introduction, and as he had come to expect they greeted him, _Good Afternoon Roronoa Sensei_, although a fair amount of them mispronounced his name and then giggled about it afterward.

Nevertheless, they were quiet, and Zoro was grateful. He walked them through how to bow properly, and they followed his instructions as well as they could with their poor coordination for their age. And then he started running them through some basic moves and forms, most of which they seemed familiar with. He went through the line, correcting them manually rather than verbally, which is what the children seemed to be at ease with.

It wasn't until the last fifteen minutes of the class that Zoro realized he had made a horrible mistake. There was a young girl, and her leg was not at the proper angle at all for the stance he was teaching them. He touched her leg lightly and said, "A little higher, and more to the left," directing her in that motion. But as he did, she collasped under his touch.

The swordsman gaped down at her, curled on the ground, and realized she had lost her footing because she had exploded into a fit of giggles. "That tickles!" she exclaimed.

Zoro frowned. "Well if an enemy tickled you in battle, then you would have just lost."

"But who would tickle you in battle?" the cheeky little girl asked.

For a second, Zoro had no answer. He had never been tickled in battle. It really did seem rather ludicrous, but he was sure he had enough self control to not lose control of his body and start laughing when he was in danger of being harmed by an enemy. But then, he recalled somebody he wouldn't put it past.

"I bet Luffy Sensei would tickle you in battle," he responded.

The little girl's eyes widened in fear. "Oh my god," she said, "You're right!"

At her words, the rest of the class broke down into laughter, and a couple of them started tickling each other. Zoro's brow furrowed with frustration - he was nearly done, and he didn't want to relinquish control of the class just yet. "Oi, stop that!" he ordered them, but nobody seemed to listen to him anymore. He even glared down at a couple of him, mustering up his most deadly stare, but the children were all unaffected, wrapped up in their revelry. Zoro could not scare them into silence.

And then he felt a tiny finger trace across his foot, and he found himself jumping about a good half meter in the air away from the offending touch. He found the source, the little girl who had been adjusted, who was still on the floor. She had tickled him! And now - why now? - the entire class was paying attention to him again all of the sudden.

"You're ticklish too, Roronoa Sensei," she teased, smiling at him.

The swordsman was tempted to scream and rage at the child, for how dare she touch her sensei in such a manner - he would have never acted this way at her age, not even younger! He wanted to demand respect from the children, he wanted them to treat him as the man he was, a man to be feared. But as he looked around him at the faces that all stared at him, upturned, his anger dissipated. In a way, these children were like Luffy, naive and fearless...and perhaps, even wise in an odd moment or two. Getting frustrated with them would just be a waste of his time.

"I am," he finally admitted. "I never knew."

"Never knew?" another child asked. "Nobody ever tickled you before?"

Zoro considered it for a moment, and realized that the child's question was accurate. Never growing up had he been tickled as far as he could remember, and now that he was older, nobody dared to tickle him. He shook his head.

The children gasped, and the little girl next to him put her hands on her legs and pushed herself to her feet. She only stood at Zoro's waist. He felt tempted to place a hand on her head and ruffle her hair, but refrained. He did not understand where the urge to make such an affectionate gesture came from.

"You should fix that," she said. "Ask somebody to tickle you tonight."

It was an order. This time, Zoro did reach out and touch her head, lightly ruffling her blond hair that was tied in tight, short pigtails. "Okay, I promise," he murmured. Then he looked out at the class, glanced at the clock, and added in a louder voice, "As long as you guys practice that is, and I'll see you next week, right?"

They consented, and Zoro couldn't help but groan to himself as they filed out of the room. These children had an adverse effect on him! How the hell was he going to swallow his pride and ask to be tickled? But he had promise, and Roronoa Zoro did not go back on his word.

_A/N: I swear that's it with the fluff! I know it was a lot but, um, if you haven't caught on to what plot point I'm pushing here, you may be a little slow! :) and that's why I've added all the fluffiness, as hints, hints, hints. _

_Hope you didn't mind a little of married Sanji point of view. I felt like he was being neglected. My fingers needed to write him._

_Read and review, or I will tickle you to death! FUFUFUFUFUFU!_


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece. Instead, I have to neglect fanfiction writing and work slave hours to pay my bills. But I'm not jealous or anything, Oda, no, not jealous at all.**

Zoro had not slept at all last night.

He didn't have watch, no, but after dinner he headed into town and stopped at the tailor's store, picking up the long awaited suit and shirt, and paid the remainder of the money, as well as a nice sized tip for the man for all his help. The man didn't refuse the money in humility for even a second, and he bid Zoro adieu and good luck. His tone of voice had been sickly amused, for some reason, and it was still haunting the swordsman at this moment.

When he had returned to the ship, Sanji had already passed out from exhaustion from all the days activities, and so Zoro went to tuck him into bed, until Robin commented that the cook probably wouldn't be happy about Zoro carrying him like that again. Instead, they woke the man, and Sanji mumbled a promise to go out for drinks with Zoro tomorrow, and then stumbled to his coat and was softly snoring before his face hit the pillow.

But Zoro had no such luck. All night, he laid in bed staring at his locker. Inside the locker there was a crisp black box with gold filigree designs on the front, and inside that box there was a perfect suit with gold buttons and a blue shirt the color of Sanji's eyes. Until dawn, the swordsman had been staring at his locker like there was a monster inside of it, just waiting to burst out and consume him the moment he closed his eyes.

Of course, Zoro wasn't afraid of any monsters of any sort, but he was deathly terrified of that suit. He couldn't hold on to it forever, and he wasn't going to, but how the hell was he going to give it to Sanji now? Now that Sanji knew about their relationship, and now that Sanji would understand that romantic symbolism behind the gesture? He would reject it, for sure, and then reject Zoro. A thousand horrible scenarios replayed themselves behind the swordsman's unblinking eyes unlike the sun began to creep through the port hole window into the men's cabin.

As soon as the light of dawn touched the wooden flooring, Zoro leapt out of bed and climbed straight into the crow's nest. He pumped iron like he never had before, sweltering with his own exertion, not even pausing to rehydrate, not even bothering to count. He was consumed with winding the hours away and exhausting himself so that, no matter what happened with Sanji tonight, he would be able to go to sleep. Also, on some odd and irrational level, the swordsman felt as though he was preparing himself to take a great deal of pain, which would likely be emotional pain, but winding himself up physically made him feel more battle-ready than ever. Despite this, Zoro knew a broken heart hurt just as much in a fit body as an unfit one.

When breakfast was called, Zoro walked in, ate, and left. He never once looked at the cook, and he didn't speak a word to anybody. He went straight into the nest and trained until his muscles quivered and the breath shook in his lungs. When he felt he could lift no more, he did one more set. When his arms shook too violently to lift the weights, he began to run throw the forms. Harder, faster, more precise. Ironically, Zoro wondered if there were any practices or exercises for seducing or wooing somebody. The cook would probably know. He was always good at those things. But the swordsman wasn't good at any of it, especially not in the beginning. He was clumsy and foolish and thoughtless - he forgot birthdays and anniversaries and favorite colors and the name of Sanji's favorite movie and all these tiny little things he learned over the years matter. _A lot_.

But now the swordsman was ready. What was Sanji's favorite color?

"Blue," he answered aloud to himself.

When was his birthday? "March 2nd." Favorite movie? "Casablanca, and fuck know's why." Anniversary? "May 25th."

"What's on May 25th?" asked a voice from behind him. Zoro stopped his overhead thrusts with Shunsui and slowly turned around, aware that every muscle of his was creaking, aware that sweat had completely drenched his body and pants and hair to the bone. And of course, Sanji was behind him, carrying a thick, full water bottle and a deliciously prepared and sliced sandwich, with crisp lettuce and different types of meat.

"You didn't have to bring me food, chef," Zoro commented. Nevertheless, he set aside his katana and gratefully accepted the water, gulping half the bottle down in one go. He was beginning to feel the onset of dehydration. He continued to sip slowly as the cook set down the sandwich in front of him.

"I called for lunch," he said, "You didn't come. You seemed a bit tense this morning, and seeing as you did me a favor yesterday..." he shrugged. "It's the best I could do."

"Well thanks," Zoro replied gruffly, digging into his sandwich. His table manners that Sanji had tried to drill into him over the years were forgotten as ravenous hunger overtook him.

"So what's on May 25th?" Sanji repeated his question.

_Well, there's no point in lying_. "Our wedding anniversary," Zoro response.

Sanji sucked in air between his teeth. "Oh," he said simply.

"We honeymooned in Japan for a week, and then the south of France for another. It was the stupidest waste of money ever."

"What?" Sanji snapped. "First off, I don't understand those stupid made-up places, so don't even bother. But what makes a honeymoon a waste of money?"

Zoro chuckled to himself, licking a bit of tomato juice that had began to trickle down his chin. "We didn't leave our room that often is what I'm saying. If we didn't need to eat, I don't know if we'd have ever left at all."

The cook blushed varying different shades of red and nearly proceeded into colors of violet. "B-b-bullshit, marimo," he stuttered. "Why do you have to say shit like that?"

Zoro sighed and popped the last of his sandwich in his mouth. "Sorry," he said sincerely. "I know it makes you uncomfortable, and I should stop." He tried to hide his smirk and swallow his words, but under his breath he muttered, "But you're the one with the nosebleed, ero cook."

Sanji heard him. He raised a hand to his face and wiped away the small, thin stream of blood that had begun to trail from his left nostril. He stared at his hand in horror, looking at the tiny smear of blood on the pad of his thumb. "No!" he insisted. "I just - it's just -" he looked out the window desperately searching for clues. "It's allergies! This damn island has some weird pollen in the flowers, and it makes my nose bleed!"

"I think that nosebleed comes from a different kind of greenery, if you would." Zoro pointed to his scalp, his facial muscles stretching as he tried to swallow his laughter.

The swordsman had expected this taunt to send Sanji over the edge, throwing kicks or storming from the room. But instead, the cook buried his face in his hands and didn't look up from them for a while. When he did, his smoker's rasp was thick and heavy, the sultry, dark tones that Zoro loved. Unfortunately, this voice was not intrenched in lust, though, but rather another emotion that makes the heart race - anxiety.

"You're right, okay?" he growled. "I guess...that thought - it may - maybe it turns me on, okay, but don't be so cocky about it! Because I see the way you are looking at me, Zoro, and if you just wanted to stick it inside me then fine, I think I could handle that. But...but...you look at me so intensely." Sanji looked up into Zoro's eyes, and then quickly looked away as though he was being burned by the man's stare. "You are obviously expecting more from me, and I can't give you that, okay, marimo?"

Zoro didn't say anything. Downstairs, on the deck, Sanji and him listened in silence as Luffy and Usopp's screams of excitement eclipsed the serious moment that was taking place dozens of yards above them. They sounded like they had caught some fish, or some creature in the nearby woods. Who cared.

"Cook it for dinner!" the captain called up into the sky, reaching the ears of the men staring at each other tensely up there. "Sanji, food!"

Sanji shook his head. "Drinks after dinner, marimo, or are you too tired?"

Zoro rolled out his shoulder and reached back down toward his weights. "I'd drink you under the table, cook, with a knife through my gut. Don't try me."

"Hn," the cook responded, stepping carefully out of the crow's nest. If he was Sanji, Zoro's husband Sanji, he would have ripped the man a new asshole for climbing rigging with damaged feet like that, but right now he had no rights to Sanji's body, sexual or otherwise. At least...not yet.

ZOSAN

It was after dinner, and Sanji had complained that he needed a shower because he had been sweating all day, but Zoro knew it was probably because the man needed to be off of his wounded feet, which he had been walking on like there wasn't holes in them or anything. Idiot. So the swordsman was sitting in the men's cabin, staring at his locker again, half naked and nauseous.

Sanji walked in, and the swordsman barely glanced at him, even though the cook was in nothing more than a white towel around his waist, hair still damp from the water, skin glossy and peach with the afterglow of a good cleansing. The cook sauntered past the dazed marimo and opened his own locker, fumbling around inside of it.

"First those bounty hunters, and then this slave mess. I really need to get through a fight without ruining clothes again." He ruffled his wet hair, droplets of moisture flying and landing on Zoro's shoulder. "I barely have anything left to wear."

This was it. This was the perfect time for Zoro to say something. It was now or never.

"It isn't Armani," Zoro heard himself say, and then he immediately wanted to hang himself. _What? _Why couldn't he have said, _I have something for you to wear cook_, or, _funnily enough, I happened to get something I think you'd like_. Or even, _look in my locker, and you won't have to go naked_. But no, he had to mention Armani, Sanji's favorite place to buy suits, because...why? Because he was fucking stupid, that's why.

"What?" Sanji asked. Of course, the pirate had never heard of Armani. The sentence was completely nonsensical to begin with.

The swordsman cleared his throat. "Armani, it's a suit shop in New York, they are really expensive...um...fuck." He placed his hand on the hilts of his swords, which seemed to give him back some of his self control. "What I'm trying to say is, I know your clothes have been ruined lately, so I hope that this," he reached into his locker and pulled out the black box that had been haunting him. "I hope this will tide you over until you can go shopping for yourself."

The cook just scowled at him and snatched the box from his hands. "What, one of your shitty white t-shirts, Zoro? I have better style than -"

But his words fell short because the man had opened the box. The cook said nothing as he slowly sat down on the couch, box still clutched in his hands, wet hair dripping down his face. Slowly, he raised a dexterous hand, that for some reason appeared clumsy in this moment, to the contents of the box, where he lifted fine black material and then gasped aloud.

"The shirt," he whispered.

"I thought you liked blue," Zoro said. He felt stupid. Why did he assume that Sanji's likes here were the same as the ones he knew?

"Baka," Sanji hissed. "It's the shirt I saw at the tailor's shop the other day. He wouldn't let me buy it, but he said it was for me...I should have known, shit, I'm so stupid..." he pulled it out and held it up to the light. "It really is the same shade as -"

"Your eyes," Zoro finished for him. "I know."

The cook glanced around the shirt he was holding up, and again looked at Zoro as if he were seeing him for the first time. It was just as uncomfortable as Zoro had feared. The tension in the room was tangible, every unsaid word hanging above the men's heads. Especially after Sanji had admitted that he was terrified of the intensity of the feelings Zoro had for him, the swordsman just had to go and rub it in his face, didn't he? He was sorely tempted to call off going drinking tonight and just drown himself in sake, alone.

But the thoughts of the solemn pirate were interrupted as Sanji lowered the shirt delicately back into the box. "Zoro," he said softly. "Thanks." And the swordsman looked up and saw that the cook was grinning with that giddy smile that he had missed so dearly, all of his pearly white teeth showing, and it reached toward those beautiful eyes - well, eye - and made them glimmer like the sun touching the sea.

"You like it?" Zoro asked. He hoped his voice didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

"It's perfect," Sanji responded. "And these gold buttons..." he paused, looking at them closer. "Wait..." he said slowly.

Zoro bit his lip. Oh no, here it comes.

"These are curly-cued...all swirly...like my fucking eyebrows you marimo bastard!"

The swordsman dodged a kick, which flew over his head so fast he could feel the wind from the sole of Sanji's shoe whip past his hair. "Coincidence, shit cook, you look into things too much!" he called out, but he was smiling from ear to ear, completely giving it away.

"Coincidence my ass!" Sanji growled. He swung another kick, and Zoro caught the man's foot carefully in his hand, leaving the man hopping on one leg. The cook remained balanced perfectly, as always, but glared up his thigh as if it were caught in a bear trap.

"Just put it on, if you like it so much, and let's hit the bar," Zoro shook Sanji's foot playfully, avoiding his wound, but causing the man to have to struggle to keep his balance. "I'm dying of thirst here, cook."

Sanji scowled. "Fine, then finish getting dressed and leave the room so I can."

"Wh -" Zoro started. Then he noticed the softest flush in Sanji's pale cheeks, and realized that in the position they were in, Zoro could clearly see a full view of the other men's genitalia. Not that it was anything the swordsman had never seen before, and not that he wasn't sorely tempted to look anyway, but he understood what the cook was implying. He didn't want Zoro eyeing him as he changed. It stung more than just a little bit, and it reeked of the cook's homophobic nature. Nonetheless, Zoro obliged. He set down the cook's foot and reached into his locker, pulling out a dark shirt and slipping it over his shoulders.

He waited outside the door for Sanji patiently, just as he had waited for the man to get ready a thousand times before. Eventually, must faster than the swordsman was used to, honestly, Sanji emerged from the men's cabin. He was straightening his new tie, and he was wearing his new suit over the sea blue shirt that matched his eyes. He looked, in every sense of the word, stunning.

"Oi, marimo," the cook asked, running his hands down his finely tailored suit. "This fits perfectly. How did the tailor know my sizes?"

Zoro chewed on his tongue in thought. "I told him," he answered shortly.

"What'd you do, measure me in my sleep?" Sanji teased.

The swordsman shook his head. "No, Sanji, I know your measurements for the same reason you know Nami's and Robin's. That's all."

Sanji flushed, but Zoro didn't know if it was because of what he was implying or because he stated the perverted truth that the cook knew the female crew members' measurements. Recalling the cook's sick interest in the female form nearly twisted a smile from the green haired man's lips, even thought Sanji had ignored his comment and had begun dismounting the deck and walking to the island.

Inside his head, Zoro was recalling when Sanji and him had first gotten together, and how insanely jealous he used to get when a women flirted back with Sanji. He never minded the blond flirting with women, for such was his nature, but when a women showed interest in return, for the longest time he sincerely feared he would lose the cook right from underneath his feet. But he had such a poor understand of Sanji at that time. It wasn't until the cook told him how he truly felt that Zoro began to understand, and his jealousy began to abate. Although it would always peeve him from time to time when somebody laid their hands on what he considered his.

The man walking in front of him, although perhaps a man with a different life, had still said those same words to him. _If there was a special someone...I thought of someone like you_. In his memory, Zoro recalled the cook and him had been laying in bed after an intense bout of love making, and the cook was running his lithe fingers down the grooves of the swordsman's muscles. Sanji whispered that he imagined a lover by his side who was strong, and yet gentle, who was steadfast and a steady foundation for the free and spirited soul that Sanji possessed. Sanji said that he may dance around women, but with Zoro, he was with his best friend, and with Zoro, he was _home_.

It wasn't long after that Zoro had asked the cook to marry him. There was only so much love that a person could endure before getting on one knee like that. And that night had changed everything.

Holding that memory in mind's eye, the swordsman steeled himself for his second first date with the man he married.

ZOSAN

Zoro was fifteen drinks in, and Sanji was working on his eighth. When they had reached town, Zoro had suggested the fancy place the tailor had told him about, but Sanji had scoffed and tugged Zoro to some well-lit pub a bit farther into town. "We're pirates," he had said, "and besides, I'm repaying _you_, so let's go to a place more your speed."

It was, admittedly, more Zoro's speed, and after a couple of strong drinks, it had been simple for him to loosen the stiffness in his bones. He could tell that Sanji, on the other hand, was on the road to getting totally plastered. The cook had thrown his feet up on the table, probably instinctively to relieve the throbbing pain they must be radiating, and he had taken off his suit jacket and slung it over the back of the chair. Also, his cuff buttons were undone and the sleeves were up to his elbows, which is only something Zoro saw him do when he was cooking sometimes.

They had started their conversation that night based on what they were going to "cheers" to, seeing as Zoro had insisted it was a habit that whenever Sanji and him drank together, they decided on something different to salute with their beverages. Sanji said he had never done it with the swordsman before, but after his third drink he was toasting to everything he could think of with everything gulp he took.

"To the beauties of Sky Island!" the cook called, and Zoro dutifully met his tankard against his friend's, as the ale sloshed out of the sides and some landed on the floor. After a gulp, the cook's cup was back up against Zoro's own as he called out, "To healthy bluefin tuna!" _Clank_. "To the Going Merry!" _Clank, _and what the hell was a Going Merry? "To the Thousand Sunny!" _Clank_. "To being pirates!" _Clank._

Thankfully for the two of them, the bar had been chosen well. It was a loud and rowdy affair, but not in any sort of dirty manner. They had a performing band and there was a lot of seamen who had taken to doing a jig in the front of the room, and on top of card games and other arguments, Sanji's ridiculous and revealing toasts went largely unnoticed. At the moment, there was a lull in his words, as the cook leaned over the table, red in the face, and wiped some spare liquid from his lips. He pointed an accusatory finger at Zoro.

"Your turn," he insisted. "I'm doing all the work here."

Zoro chuckled. "You are such a lightweight, cook. I'm surprised you can still speak."

"Marimo head!" Sanji cursed. "You toast with me, now!" He sounded so childlike, and to emphasize his point, he even slammed an open palm on the table, causing the legs of the wooden stand to dig into the flooring dangerously. Sure the man didn't have arm strength compared to Zoro, but it didn't mean he couldn't tear the place apart. Zoro better make sure he doesn't hit any more furniture.

"Okay, okay, princess," he conceded. He raised his glass, thinking to himself. "How about, to the All Blue?"

For a long minute, he wasn't sure if Sanji had heard him, or worse yet, that Sanji had passed out with his eyes open and sitting up. But then the cook raised his own tankard and lightly met Zoro's own. "The All Blue," he echoed. Then, he just took the slightest sip from his drink and set it down on the table. The cook leaned back in his chair and tucked his hands behind his head, a very casual pose that looked rather unlike the cook.

"You've really outdone yourself, Zoro," he commented.

"Hm?" Zoro asked. "You mean, drinking? Baka, this is nothing -"

"No," Sanji interrupted. "The suit, the things you say, the...I don't know - you just really surprised me, is what I'm saying. In a good way."

Zoro shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, when inside he was secretly burning with excitement. "You surprise me everyday, cook. I'm supposed to be the dependable and predictable one."

Sanji lit another cigarette. If at all possible, he was going through them faster than ever before in his state of drunkenness. "You are dependable and predictable." He sighed, puffing away at the ceiling, his drunken reverie fading. "It's odd, seeing as I grew up on the sea, and everything around me was always changing. The sea...my home, it was always changing." He looked at Zoro, and for the first time in a long time, he held his gaze steady and serious. "But you aren't like that, Zoro. You're like land." He smirked. "Land ahoy. Maybe it's that green marimo head of yours." Then he shook his head, dismissing the urge to joke his words away. "But, really, seaweed brain, you're like...home. I home I never knew I needed."

Zoro gaped at the cook from over his drink. It was nearly the exact same words Sanji had said to him years ago, the same words that had changed his view of the world, that made him realize that perhaps he could be loved.

The cook buried his face in his hands, nearly burning his hair on his upturned cigarette that was smoking from the corner of his lips. "Shit, I'm so drunk, I probably don't make any sense right now."

The swordsman grinned. "Well, it's said _In vino veritas_ - In wine there is truth."

"This is mead, shitty swordsman. I thought of all things you would know your alcohol."

"It's a saying, idiot, it doesn't have to be wine," Zoro scowled. "It means that you're probably making more sense now than you do when you're sober."

Sanji shook his head, still cradled in his hands. "Zoro," he said. "Take me home."

The swordsman stood and fished the money from the pocket to cover the rest of their tab, tossing it on the table. He set down his glass and walked over to Sanji, resting two heavy hands on the man's lean shoulders. The cook looked up at the contact in the swordsman's clear, grounded eyes. His own face was flushed, and his head was swimming, but something about the touch of the other man let him know he was safe. The cook felt the weight of his new jacket settle over his shoulders.

"Can you walk?" Zoro asked him.

"Of course," Sanji replied, his pride winning out. He stumbled to his feet, with a good bit of aid from the moss head, not that he'd ever admit it, and then took a few steps backward before he could get the direction he wanted correct. He belatedly realized the marimo's hand was around his waist, gently guiding him to the exit. Zoro didn't hold on to loosely or too tightly, but rather with the perfect amount of pressure. He supported, but he didn't control. He knew Sanji could make it on his own, but he still wanted to help the man get there.

Halfway down the street, Sanji leaned against the outside of a shop, looking down at the ground. "Hold on," he said, holding up a hand. "I need a break." Zoro nodded, and stood with his hands in his pockets waiting for the man to recover. What the swordsman didn't notice was the wicked glint of devious planning that was in the cook's visible eye.

In a flash, Sanji had grabbed the collar of Zoro's shirt and had him pressed up against the wall, holding a bunch of fabric in each hand. With all the guts he could muster, which was quite a lot considering all the liquid courage he drank that night, he smashed his lips against Zoro's, pushing the man deep into the storefront behind him.

But the swordsman did not kiss him back. So Sanji grabbed the back of Zoro's neck, his fingers running through the man's soft green hair, and pressed them together until their jawbones nearly touched, laying down sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss. Yet still, the bastard didn't kiss him back.

Sanji pulled away. "I want you Zoro, don't you get it?" He dipped in for another wet smacking of lips. "I don't understand how I feel, but I want you..." He groaned into Zoro's mouth and then, a feat of bravery that he didn't think he was capable of, he ground his hardness into Zoro's left thigh. At the contact, the swordsman's eyes widened. "Can you feel that? I want you, shitty marimo. Just take me. Take me tonight."

"No," Zoro whispered. He was biting his bruised lip, maiming his mouth further. "I can't, Sanji." His voice was breaking.

The cook shook him as hard as he could, and Zoro's head bounced off the stone wall painfully as his body slammed back and forth. "Why not, bastard? I thought...I thought..." And Sanji's face was breaking, falling apart into a thousand pieces, a pain that Zoro recognized happened when the man was wrapped in his own insecurities.

The swordsman reached out and ran a gentle finger down the side of Sanji's jawline, stilling its quivering. "Sanji..." he spoke softly, a voice used only with lovers. "It's not like that, it's not like I don't want to." He stilled Sanji's question of _then why_ with his finger on the other man's lip, and then he made to tenderly cusp the other man's face in both hands so he could look into the cook's eyes, faintly illuminated by the streetlights.

"I love you, Sanji, I do, and it makes me so happy to hear that." He leaned down and placed an innocent peck on the cook's red lips. "But you're drunk right now. And if we do anything right now, I don't know if you'll regret it. And I don't want you to regret it. So let's wait."

"But I won't regret it!" Sanji insisted. "I need you, Zoro." He placed his hands over Zoro's own on his face. "I need you now."

"One kiss," Zoro promised. "One good kiss, and then I'll hold all night if you let me. But nothing more. Not tonight."

Sanji growled deep in his throat and pressed a threatening knee to Zoro's thigh. "I could just take what I want," he hissed.

Zoro chuckled. "You could, but then we'd both be so bandaged up by Chopper the next day we probably couldn't do anything for weeks."

The cook scowled. "One kiss? You're treating me like a virgin."

"Aren't you?"

Sanji blushed furiously. "Just fucking kiss me, marimo."

So Zoro did. He bent in the inch lower that Sanji was from him and lightly met the cook's lips. He expertly ran his tongue across the man's body lip and then slipped his own tongue inside the cook's mouth, where he brushed against the sweet texture that was Sanji's own tongue. He tasted it for just a moment, relishing the taste, a taste that made him think of their wedding day and that made him think of their daily hellos and goodbyes from the apartment. This wasn't a _fuck me_ kiss, it was a _love me _kiss. As he pulled back, he allowed his lips to run over the cook's once more, softly massaging the redness from them.

Drawing back, he saw that Sanji still had his eyes closed. Then he blinked, and openly them, his visible eye wide and shining. He raised his hand to his own lips and touched them, as if making sure they were still there, still in reality.

"That's how you kiss your husband?" Sanji asked.

Zoro nodded.

"Then I'd marry you all over again, you fucking bastard."

A smile threatened to split Zoro's face in two. He leapt down and decided he was going to break his promise, he was going to kiss Sanji's face raw, he was going to brush his fingers through the man's golden hair until he knew no other feeling. But as his hands grasped the man's shoulders, Sanji doubled over as though he was in pain. And before the swordsman could react, the cook vomited up eight tankards of mead and tonight's dinner all down his front, and it splattered on the street between them.

"Oh, shit, you idiot cook!" Zoro cursed, brushing the man's hair from his eyes and wiping his hand along Sanji's mouth for him. He was drenched to the bone in bile, from his chest to his thighs, and of course, the cook's new suit did not have a single droplet on it. Typical.

_A/N: Please read and review, you have no idea how much every single review makes me smile and makes my day! I've been working slave hours at work, so sorry for the late updates, but I'll get them out, I promise._

_Oh, and being vomited on sucks. Written from personal experience, like always! =]_


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. If I did, Vergo wouldn't have a hamburger stuck on his face, because I don't like hamburgers. That is all**.

When Zoro opened the door to his apartment, he found that his husband had been replaced with a nagging middle-aged woman who looked just like Sanji. The cook was pacing in the kitchen, tapping furiously on his phone, and scowling like he was preparing for battle.

"Where the hell have you been?" he insisted in a shrill voice to Zoro. "You could've left a note or answered your phone or something!"

Zoro placed down his bag of katanas and sighed heavily. "Stop being such a woman, I was teaching classes at the dojo, covering for Sabo. Why do you care so much?"

Sanji pointed an accusatory finger at him. "I guess you've forgotten, but there's a gang of illegal murderers out for your blood -"

"I can take care of myself," the swordsman interrupted.

The cook scoffed and reached for a cigarette. Zoro noticed the ashtray was full and overflowing. "Sure, you can swing your sticks around fine,"

"Oi!"

"but unless something's changed that I don't know about, you can't remember anything from your social security number to who the current president is."

He was right, Zoro had no idea what a social security number was and while he was sure a president was a leader, he couldn't pull the name of that person out of his ass even if he tried. Still, he kicked off his shoes and reclined on the couch. "Doesn't matter if I cut them. I'm not gonna be quizzed, you know."

The cook growled but didn't respond verbally. Instead, he reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer and tossed it. Reactions still sharp, Zoro caught it in his hand without even looking, cracked it open, and took a swig. He heard from the couch the sounds of Sanji firing up the stove.

"So how was teaching the classes? Which ones did you have today?" he asked conversationally.

Zoro grunted. "Okay." He heard a steely silence from behind him and realized he was supposed to continue with his explanation about _his day_ - that did sound like something couples did, didn't it? "I taught a basic Kenjutsu, then an Iaito Kendo with older kids, and then beginner's Kendo for some really young ones," he elaborated dutifully.

"Well, you look dead tired," the cook responded. "Did you get beat up by some ten year old?"

"Bastard," Zoro muttered, and then he recalled the six or seven year old girl that had threatened to tickle him into madness, and bit his tongue. Perhaps Sanji wasn't too far off the mark, but he wasn't prepared to admit that yet. "They were very disrespectful," he added as an explanation.

Sanji scoffed, and Zoro looked behind him to see Sanji throwing him a dirty glance over his shoulder as he searched around in the freezer. "Disrespectful as in reality, or disrespectful as in not as regimented and weird as you were as a child?"

"Regimented?" Zoro echoed. "What's that supposed to mean?" He meant it quite literally - he had no idea what the word meant.

"You know," Sanji waved a carrot in the air as if fishing around for the right words to define it. "You were raised as some backwater samurai-style dojo in the mountains of Japan, all Edo period and shit. Kids aren't like that everywhere else...kids are kids, sometimes."

Zoro didn't recognize half the words, but he let it slide. "Yeah, kids are kids - disrespectful and noisy."

At these words, for some reason, Sanji's face fell, as though Zoro had brought him some horrible news. The swordsman supposed for a second that he should ask the cook what was wrong, but he was terrified that the cook would actually answer explaining his real feelings, and he didn't know if he wanted that after a long day at work.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he said, excusing himself.

"Okay," Sanji said. "Dinner should be done when you come out. Do you want this in penne or rigatoni?"

"What the hell?" the swordsman called over his shoulder.

"Penne it is, go shower, marimo idiot."

In the shower, Zoro stood underneath the spray for quite a lot longer than necessary before even lathering up his hair. It was a relatively big shower, and the only thing he could think of was the fact that two could definitely fit in there comfortably. He wondered if Sanji and him had sex in the shower, but even more so, he wondered if some mornings they showered together. Zoro imagined Sanji washing his hair for him, massaging his scalp in the process, or if they were in more of a rush, the two of them tripping over each other and fighting for the soap. He cracked a smile at this - of course that is exactly what would happen. And if somebody dropped the soap...

His smile fell off. He had to keep repeating to himself that it was not okay to just be sexually attracted to Sanji. The man was gorgeous, there was no doubt about it. And Zoro, while not being conceded, was realistic, and he acknowledged that he had a well-built figure and had a decent enough bone structure to entitle himself to a handsome face. Therefore, it seemed simple enough that Sanji, if open to homosexual relationships, would be open to sleeping with Zoro, a man who was physically attractive, interested in the cook's body himself, and a...peer of his, for lack of a better word. But what Zoro couldn't understand is how it had progressed to a state of a deep romantic relationship, a relationship that would make the cook feel so bereft at the thought of it ending that he was reduced to tears.

_That's a lie_, a voice whispered in the back of his head, a voice that Zoro rarely heard and it often sounded like Kuina to him. _Last time you were holding him in bed you felt like you loved him, you thought it yourself. You have feelings for him_.

Feelings? Sure, Zoro had feelings. But love? That was a strong word, and the swordsman was pretty sure he had never said it seriously in his life, and wasn't planning on breaking it out anytime soon. He could imagine a thousand things he could say to the cook at this time, like that he would die for the other man, that he thought the cook was handsome, sexy, fuckable, that he respected Sanji, even. But the implications of the word love bothered him. It meant something so deep, and Zoro was pretty sure that love was something one sacrificed their dreams and ambitions as well as their lives for. It was sometimes the pain of giving up things worse than loosing your life, simply because the only thing worse than giving that up is losing the one you love. And Zoro wasn't about to ever give up on his vow to Kuina...to be the greatest swordsman...

Suddenly, Zoro was washing all the soap off of his body, turning off the knobs in the shower, and he ran out of the bathroom, still wet, a towel loosely hanging off his hips. He had to hold it there as he didn't even take the time to tuck it in or knot it, as he burst in on the cook in the kitchen, who was just dishing out the plates for the two of them.

Sanji looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "What, your dick fall off or something? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Cook!" he demanded. "I need you to tell me something."

"What's that?" the blond responded suspiciously, making no promises.

"The world's greatest swordsman...who...I mean, am I...do I try...?" All of the sudden, the question wouldn't come out right, but Zoro needed to know, and somehow, Sanji understood.

"The world's greatest swordsman is Dracule Mihawk, called Hawkeyes. You mentioned him when you told me about what you remembered. Who else would give you a scar like that?" Zoro touched his chest in reaction, rubbing his fingers along the bunched up skin that never healed quite right. "And no, you haven't defeated him yet, but you aren't giving up, and we all know it's just a matter of time."

The cook poured the frothy beer Zoro was drinking earlier in a mug and set it in front of Zoro's plate. "Might as well sit down in eat, marimo." The swordsman tucked the corner of his towel in, and made to sit down at the table, not bothering to run back to the bedroom and get changed. He played dumb when he saw the lecherous look the cook gave him as he threw himself up on the barstool.

"Were you there?" Zoro asked Sanji, putting food in his mouth from his fork with one hand and touching his scar with the other.

The cook nodded, picking at his own meal. He ate slowly, as always, savoring every bite. The amount on his plate was also less. For the first time, this concerned Zoro. How come the cook ate so little? The man was always so skinny, never unhealthy, but just the weight that he could afford a bit more meat on his bones. It made the swordsman oddly disconcerted to think that Sanji wasn't eating properly enough, just because of some weird misplaced habit to ration the food so they didn't run out.

"I was there, and we had just met. Nami won a group trip to Spain, so she invited...I think you, Luffy, and Usopp, and her sister, but then her sister couldn't come at the last minute, I don't remember... So Luffy called me, and I was still studying in Paris, but I took a week off and came to join you guys in her stead."

"We were on vacation?" Zoro asked, incredulous.

Sanji nodded, pushing his food on his plate around before taking another bite. "Luffy got in a fight with some guy, who was already involved in a fight with Mihawk. When you saw him, you got so excited...I've never seen you so pumped up. Said he was some guy entangled in illegal finances and real close to some corrupt higher ups in the EU. He had a sword," Sanji frowned. "You have to realize how weird it is for people to have swords here. It's not a normal style of fighting, at least not with real blades. So it was a pretty terrifying fight to watch."

Zoro had realized swords were unusual in this city, seeing as he never saw another person carrying any sort of weapon, let along a knife or katana, and he had figured out early on that he needed some weird sort of plastic license to even carry his swords without getting arrested. Nevertheless, the swordsman was placated. Yes, he was married to Sanji, and that was a slightly odd, settling-down move, on his part. But he had not sacrificed his dream just because of this change in his life.

And after all, what had he expected? Although his close friends cared about him and valued his life, his Captain had sworn to never get in the way of him achieving his ambition, and such was the same with every Strawhat member. In fact, they all supported and encouraged each other in their own personal missions. Out of any one of them, Sanji may be the most inclined to support Zoro's dream, besides Luffy - after all, he had tried to prevent Zoro from sacrificing himself on Thriller Bark, saying that _his dream was more important_.

That still pissed Zoro the fuck off. He valued his dream, yes, but he didn't think that his dream was any less nor more than Sanji's, or any of the other crew mates. The swordsman was still insulted on how this strong, handsome man constantly put himself down subconsciously.

Meanwhile, the cook and him finished their meals. Sanji grabbed the plates and just placed them down in the sink, leaning back and lighting a cigarette. "We had the biggest fight over that after we got married."

Zoro looked up, fear gripping his heart. Perhaps he had given up on his dream after all? Had he compromised it?

"You went to a lawyer to change your will - you already had a shitty will, and we were so young, because you knew what risk you were putting yourself in, first with your line of work, but perhaps even more so with your ambition."

The swordsman nodded. "Well, yeah, if I married you, I'd want my things to go to you when I died."

"If," Sanji corrected him softly. "That's one thing I make you do. I make you say if."

"Well, regardless, I'll die someday."

The cook glared at him with a singular baleful eye. "If, marimo bastard. If you die, I don't care what arguments you have." He took a deep drag. "Anyway, you changed your will, and of course I realized that this meant you could die one day and leave me all alone..."

"Did you ask me to quit my ambition?" Zoro asked. It seemed so likely, and he honestly didn't know how he'd respond to that situation. It was like making two contradicting promises. He swore to be the greatest swordsman to Kuina, but he also swore his life and loyalty to Sanji, which meant that he was somewhat duty bound to look after himself so that way he could better look after Sanji. If the cook had asked him that, then Zoro may have had his heart ripped out in that moment. There was no option.

But Sanji gave a hard, mirthless laugh in response. "No, never," he said. "Why would I do that to you? How could I ask you to sacrifice part of who you are? Then you would no longer be the man I married." He bit his lip, staring off into the distance, recalling some painful memory as his eyebrow tightly curled. "No, I sent you divorce papers, told you I wasn't strong enough, and I wanted out."

The swordsman raised his hand to his heart. For a moment, he actually thought somebody had stabbed a knife through it, it was such a sharp and real sensation that traveled through his body. But then he realized it was just heartache, the acute touch of emotional pain that he hadn't felt that deeply in a long time. "You didn't," he gasped.

The cook grumbled to himself. "I did, I was so fucking stupid. When I got home, you were shaking them in my face demanding what they fuck they were, where the fuck they came from, and what the hell you did wrong. I told you again it was me, I wasn't strong enough, I couldn't lose you to death, so I might as well call it quits now."

At this, he actually smiled, although it didn't reach his eyes. It was more ironic and bittersweet. "You threw them on the stove and set them on fire," he answered. "Said you didn't care and that you were never letting me go, no matter what I said or did."

"Did I?" Zoro smirked.

"You did," Sanji answered. "You were fucking crazy, I should've gotten out of there while I still could, because you just got worse." He playfully shoved Zoro's shoulder with an open hand, and Zoro let his shoulders roll back a bit at the weak force. "But then you told me I was bullshitting, and I was strong enough...and you also said that death isn't the end of true love."

"I sound melodramatic," the swordsman groused at the table, folding his arms over his naked chest.

Sanji chuckled. "We both were, we both are." He pointed across the room at the shelves on the wall. Zoro followed his gesture and realized that the cook had put his swords back on the shelves for him, Wado resting on the top most one. "And I asked you how you knew that, and that's when you hit me with her."

The cook was pointing directly at Wado. "I hit you?" Zoro repeated. "Now that isn't something I thought husbands did."

"Well that's something marimo bastards do, hit their husbands with the hilt of a sword to make a point." Sanji shrugged. "I was mad as all hell on you, and went berserk, but I got the message. I never worried again."

The cook's facial expression changed. He had seemed happy for a moment, reminiscing about the past they shared together, although Zoro didn't recall it, but suddenly his face fell and he crossed the room swiftly. Sanji hovered in front of Zoro's swords on the shelf, and then reached up and held a hand just an inch away from Wado. He didn't touch the sword, though, always keeping his fingers a breath away.

"Speaking of her, I need to make arrangements at work to have off. It's next month, isn't it?"

"What is?" Zoro asked.

"Today is April 15th," Sanji responded, as if that explained everything.

"I really don't know what you're getting at."

Sanji still didn't turn around, just running his fingers up and down the air above the katana. Zoro's fingers itched at the sight of it. Almost always, the thought of somebody touching his swords sent him into a wild and possessive rage. He considered them more a part of his own body than his limbs. But for some reason, although Sanji wasn't touching them out of respect and unspoken understanding, he found that he wouldn't have minded the cook to set his fingers on Wado right now. It was clear that he had shared his story with his husband, and it was clear that his husband cared deeply about it - and knowing that somebody in this world understood this part of his life and supported him in it...made it so much easier to bear.

"We go visit her grave every year on the anniversary of her death. We fly out and make a little getaway out of it. It falls near our wedding anniversary, so it's sort of nice..."

Zoro hadn't spoken it in many years, but her name slipped out easily, as though he still said it everyday, "Kuina?"

"Of course," Sanji responded. "I'll make a list of all the victories you made at local tournaments to tell her. You hate it, but I think it makes her secretly proud."

The way the cook was speaking about her, it was as if he knew her intimately. "Did you...ever meet her?"

Sanji finally turned around to face Zoro, his brow furrowed. "No, she died long before I met you, you remembered that much."

"Then why do you talk as if you know her?"

Finally, the cook's long, lean finger touched the hilt of Wado Ichimonji, wrapping his dexterous digits around the perfect wrappings. His face was reverent, as though he were touching a holy artifact or a virgin maiden. "I do know her," he said, looking straight at the katana as though he was seeing something different there. "She lives within you, so she lives with me."

Zoro could not take it anymore. The sight of Sanji standing there, so wrapped up, not in his own dreams and past, but in Zoro's, and hearing those words; it all flooded his body that an emotional overload, and he buried his face in his hands, pulling at his own hair, gritting his teeth. "Fuck," he gasped. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, _kuso_."

He heard Sanji's footsteps drawing back from the wall and coming to set in front of Zoro. He saw the front of the man's white button down in his blurred vision. He felt the man's hand lightly touch the back of Zoro's neck, just as reverently, just as intimately as he had just touched Zoro's sword. As though it was something precious that he understood so deeply, as if it were part of his own soul.

"You're cursing in Japanese, you alright?" he asked, his voice low and soothing.

"No," Zoro gasped. "I'm not alright." He pressed his thumbs deep into his eyelids, as if trying to push his eyes back into his head. "This can't be what it really feels like, can it? Because it hurts so fucking bad."

Sanji sighed, and rubbed small circles on Zoro's upper back. "I know it hurts to loose someone you love, the pain never truly goes away -"

"No!" Zoro shouted. He kept his head bowed but reached out and grabbed both of Sanji's arms in his steadfast grip, his nails probably leaving marks in the man's sensitive skin. His voice cracked as he tried to speak.

"Is this...what love feels like?"

Sanji drew in air sharply through his teeth. He tensed beneath Zoro's hands.

"It hurts, Sanji, it _hurts_."

The cook relaxed underneath his grip. "I know," he whispered. His voice sounded so resigned for some reason that Zoro couldn't place in that haze of his mind. The swordsman's body was too rocked by stimulus, and not the kind he felt in the pain of battle nor the kind from sexual excitement and release. It may have started at his skin, but it went down into the marrow of the man's bones. He felt as though he was naked - no, not even that, for nudity had never bothered him - but he felt as though he had just thrown his soul out on the floor to be done with what the world would. And on top of it all, he was hungry, no, starving, for some deep void that had opening within him like a gaping wound to be filled. And only the cook could fill it, otherwise it would be a violation, a sickening thought to even behold. He _needed _Sanji, and he needed him always, and even more than any of this was the resounding fact that:

Sanji mattered more. Zoro was riled up in so much different emotions that he had never exposed himself to before, but like a steel rod through his brain, it was pounding into his skull that yes, his life matters, and his friends mattered, and his dreams mattered. But Sanji came first. And Sanji would always come first, forever more.

A noise sounded out in the apartment, and it took a moment for Zoro to release it was coming from him - it was a keening noise, one that was heard from mourning mothers and dying souls. He had never sounded so pathetic in his life. "Sanji," he whispered hoarsely.

Sanji kept rubbing Zoro back and neck in soft curves. "Yes, Zoro?"

Instinct taking over, Zoro toppled from his barstool and fell to his knees in front of the cook, bowed completely prostrate in the traditional position of repentance. "Please forgive me," he choked out. "I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it."

"Realize what?" Sanji asked softly. He was pushing Zoro, making him say it, because he knew that as much as it killed Zoro's pride to fall on his knees, it would kill even more to say these words, and know that with these words he had fully sacrificed himself. But, in the swordsman's eyes, Sanji came first now, and if he needed to hear it, it would be said.

"I love you, Sanji Roronoa. I need you." He pressed his forehead into the cold, hardwood floor. "Forever."

With these words, Zoro thought he would feel ashamed, humiliated, and defeated. But instead, as he spoke them, a warmth spread, starting at his core and headed outward. He felt almost proud to have spoken what he felt, and for a fleeting moment he considered that maybe love can make you stronger, instead of weaker, if one loves the right man. Soon enough, the warmth began to come from the outside, too, in the physical manner, as Sanji's hands clasped the swordsman's shoulders and tugged.

"On your feet," he said. "I hate it when you do that, you look stupid."

Zoro put both his feet on the ground and pushed up off his knees to stand. As he did so, his towel, that had already suffered abuse from all the sudden movement, finally fell off his hips, leaving him naked in the middle of their kitchen in front of a fully dressed, completely composed Sanji.

The man was smoking a cigarette and had begun to loosen the tie around his neck. "So you need me, eh?" he asked, echoing Zoro's heartfelt words in a sarcastic tone.

Despite this, Zoro refused to be ashamed his admission. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant about the rejection he felt coming. "I do."

"Say it again," Sanji growled. The bite in his voice made the swordsman look up, and he realized it wasn't contempt that was turning the blond's voice low - it was lust. The man's pants were already tented, and he was undoing the buttons of his shirt with one hand, his undone tie around his neck like a scarf, and his second hand touched the button of his pants and then, very swiftly, _pop_, they were loose.

"No way in hell, shit cook," Zoro growled back, his body tensing. "What's with that look in your eye?"

"Say it again," the cook repeated, not yielding for a moment. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray, tapping out each loose smolder with the blackened butt.

"I just said all that to you, and this is how you change the mood?" Zoro was furious now, and reached down to fetch his towel, but Sanji kicked it away.

At this, the blond paused. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, and then glanced at Zoro, his eyes like a blue flame, burning intensely on the inside, but from the out, they were cold, and gave off no heat. "Take it like this," he spoke languidly. "I'm a cook, and you said you needed something. I like to give people what they need." He licked his lower lip. "I'd like to give you what you need, but you need to tell me what you want."

Zoro gritted his teeth, and he felt with utter shame that as he was watching Sanji undress slowly, stripping his pants legs off in front of him, leaving him standing in tight boxer briefs, that he had grown to have quick the impressive erection. "I said it once, it isn't happening again," the swordsman insisted.

"Fine," Sanji said, and then he moved as fast as lightening, a battle move that Zoro had never seen before, one he could never predict, and in the moment he was far too removed to even try to respond. All he hear as he saw the blur of Sanji's hand and legs was the man's voice as he gave his warning a moment too late, saying, "Then I'll fuck it out of you."

And Sanji's tie was no longer around the mans' neck, but instead in Zoro's mouth, tied tightly to the back of his head, secured between his teeth like a gag. And Sanji's hand were no longer in the man's pocket, but he was holding Zoro's hands together behind his back, pinning him bent over on the couch.

Zoro wriggled. Was the cook stupid? He could easily overpower the man in a wrestling match, even if taken by surprise like this.

But then a firm hand clasped around his dick and his mind went blank. He cried out into the gag relentlessly as Sanji stroked up and down in swift, hard movements. It was not gentle like it had been before, but demanding, passionate, and fierce. It was, Zoro finally decided, _need_.

As Sanji jacked him, he leaned over Zoro's back, his bare chest flush against Zoro's overheated skin, and the cook began biting at the swordsman's shoulders, sucking kisses on the planes of rippling muscle on his back. He no longer had to hold Zoro's hands, which were splayed out before him, so he used his second one to run his hand through Zoro's short hair and grasp at it, pulling it back and exposing the man's neck.

But the hand began to move, as the other continued to pump Zoro until he was thrusting into it, and then arching to meet Sanji's kisses and love bites. The second hand cupped Zoro's ass cheeks, massaging the deep tissue, and then moved even lower. It was faint, but the swordsman heard the snap of somebody opening some sort of bottle.

He felt it before he processed what it was. Cold, wet, oily - lubricated fingers teased around Zoro's entrance, running circles around the tight ring of muscle. The swordsman flinched and squirmed, his body a writhing mass of strength under golden-browned skin, coated in a musky sheen of sweat. "No way," he tried to gasp through the gag, but it came out garbled.

"You said you needed me, Zoro," Sanji spoke from behind him. He ended his sentences with a bite on Zoro's skin, tugging and pulling it front his body with his teeth. "You need me to fill you." He bit again, but as he spoke, his voice sounded softer, kinder, for a moment, saying, "I promise it's what you need right now, you just don't know it. I promise it'll make you feel better. Just let yourself need someone else for once, marimo."

These words helped Zoro relaxed, and thus he went limp, allowing Sanji access to his backside as he leaned into the cook's touch. It was more delicate this time as his fingers circled again, and then a small digit slid inside of him.

It felt strange, and perhaps oddly intrusive, but not in a violated or unwelcome manner. Only after a few pumps, Sanji pulled back to insert another finger, and he began to scissor them back and forth. Again, Zoro could feel himself stretch, but it was neither pleasurable nor painful.

And then Sanji stuck in three fingers, and first there was pain, but as he slid them in, he pulled them upward in a come-hither motion, and Zoro nearly bit through Sanji's tie with his powerful jaw as he cried out, his nerves firing off in places he had never imagined before.

"Good," Sanji whispered. "That hasn't changed."

Zoro felt the cook pull his fingers free, and he moaned from the sudden coldness and emptiness he felt, but then Sanji's handed landed on his sides, and he slowly rolled him. He realized where the cook wanted him, and helped him by laying out on the couch, on his back, looking up at Sanji.

Sanji was flushed deeply and his hair was slick with his own sweat. He had discarded his boxers, although he still wore his shirt unbuttoned, and his cock was fully erect, dripping and neglected, red and pulsating and looking more delicious than ever. Zoro grunted at the sight of it, a deep animalistic sound that reared up from inside of his instincts.

"I wanted to look at you," Sanji explained. He ran his fingers up and down Zoro's abs and chest, and then raked his nails against it. "You are a beautiful specimen of a human being," he gasped through gritted teeth, and as he spoke, his arousal leaked even further. "You have no idea how wonderful it is," he roughly squeezed Zoro's arm muscles and then the man's neck. "having one of the strongest, deadliest men in the world at my mercy."

Finally, he fingers found Zoro's mouth, and he ran the pad of his index fingers across Zoro's stretched lips, wiping away the stray salivia that had leaked from the corners of his gag. He wrapped a hand around Zoro's head and palmed the knot in the back.

"I'll take it off if you'll say it."

Zoro's eyes narrowed, but the ache between his legs won over. He nodded, and Sanji flicked his fingers, untying the tie and pulling it's wet fabric free from Zoro's jaw. As soon as it was gone, the swordsman gasped in quick breaths of air, and between these, he managed to force out, "I...need...you...Sanji." And for good measure, so he knew he'd never have to say it again, he added, "Please."

_Full_.

Full, full, so completely full. The gaping wound, the void in Zoro, was filled, and not just physically, but emotionally at that moment. Sanji had not said a word as he pushed into the swordsman's body, but he had locked eyes with Zoro and it bespoke volumes that he never needed to say out loud, for they never truly needed to say anything aloud, did they? They understood each other, and as physical men, could express this better with their bodies than anything else.

The pressure from Sanji's cock inside of him was immense, but the cook had not moved yet after thrusting in once. He was studying Zoro's face, waiting from some sort of inclination to move again. Finally, Zoro adjusted and moved his hips slightly, angling them toward the cook even more. Taking this as a go, Sanji pulled out and pushed in again, and then time, because of the angle he was holding Zoro's legs aloft at, the swordsman nearly buckled around the pleasure that shot through his system. It ironically reminded him of being struck by lightening, but in a much different manner, and without the nasty side effects. As Sanji struck it again and again, he came to realize he had no control over his body any move, and he found himself twitching and convulsing and bucking, odd muscles in his thighs jolting and his toes curling. It was building in a way that it had never built before, the giant pull out of the tide before a storm of epic proportions. And he was going to drown in this wave, there was no doubt about it.

Sanji bent down, still so unbelieveably flexible, and fixed a sloppy kiss on Zoro's mouth. And then he ducked in again, and again, never pulling away, as though the only way he could breath was while locking lips with the swordsman, their tongue colliding as their bodies collided in tandem, rocking back and forth to the rhythm of their moans and grunts.

Finally, the cook pulled away for air, and angled his hips to hit Zoro's sweet spot again. He looked down at the panting man below him, perfect body awash in breaking waves of pleasure, and whispered, "This is true love, Zoro, remember that." He pressed an open palm to the side of Zoro's face and made sure his blue eye connected with the teared, blurred set beneath his. "Nothing can stop this."

And as the last syllable rolled off Sanji's tongue, Zoro unraveled in the man's arms, feeling one final thrust and the lightest brush of Sanji's stomach against his own erection, and he was exploded, his vision blank, his ears rushing with the sound of his own blood, and as he came, he tensed so intensely that Sanji cried out above him and released himself inside Zoro. Coming down, the swordsman felt the sticky wetness filling his inside and dripping down between his legs. He groaned and panted and melted into the couch beneath him as Sanji collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily in Zoro's ear.

They sat there for a while, enjoying the silence, the liquid dripping from Zoro's entrance, and the rest spread across both men's naked chests. And the swordsman wiped tears of pleasure from his eyes and wrapped a strong arm around his lover's body, pressed a strong, forceful kiss into the man's blond hair. He had been right all along - it felt wonderful to be possessed by Sanji, beautiful to be filled, and he was so sated with that deep need that had driven him to his knees minutes before.

"But next time," Zoro said aloud, "it's my turn."

Sanji just snorted, saying, "Hey, no deal-making. All's fair in love and war."

"What if it's both?" the swordsman asked, eyeing his swords on the shelves, thinking to all the hardships that lay ahead.

"If," Sanji chuckled. "_Now _you say if." He shifted his body to lie beside Zoro on the couch cushions, and followed his gaze to the man's katanas on the shelves, especially Wado. He sighed, his breath tickling across Zoro's chest. "Well, if this is love and war," he settled more comfortably into the crook of the swordsman's arms. "Then you fuck better and fight harder than anyone I know, and because of that, I believe that our _if_ will never come true."

"I can't guarantee that," Zoro muttered softly, taken aback.

The cook was drifting off to sleep, though, as he whispered, "But I need you."

_A/N: I am so sorry it took me so long to update, but I lost somebody very dear to me recently, and with the wake and funeral and everything else, I've just been very busy. Also, when I did have free time, I just couldn't force myself to write._

_I hope this came out okay despite my personal turmoil, and that you all enjoyed the lemon. Please read and review and make me smile. _


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: Oda owns One Piece, and I am not Oda. My name is Indigo Montoya, and you killed my father, prepare to - **

**No, wrong fandom, sorry. Enjoy! Not for virginal minds! But virginal bodies, feel free to enjoy as well if you so desire. **

When Blackleg Sanji woke up, he felt warm, almost too warm. Cracking an eye open, he quickly closed it when the blinding light of the morning sun coming through the porthole window gave him a sudden, searing headache. His mouth was dry and his head was heavy and pounding. A hangover, then. But that didn't explain his warmth. So shifting, to roll over away from the sun, he opened his eyes, and gasped.

He was lying in bed with a topless, boxer-clad and nothing else, Roronoa Zoro. And the marimo had his arms around his waist and a leg thrown over his own. And of course, to curse it all, the man was waking up due to Sanji's squirming.

Zoro's eyes opened to take in Sanji's shell-shocked face, and the first thing he did, sleep still addling his brain, was lean in a press a kiss to the man's forehead, and muttered, "go back to sleep, eyebrows, it's early yet."

But Sanji's voice cut through his sleep like a sharp, steel chef's knife, as he said, "Zoro, what the fuck happened last night?"

The swordsman opened his eyes again and looked at his husband - no, at Sanji the Blackleg Pirate. The man with bags under his eyes and a drawn face from a night out drinking, and they were lying together in a hammock. Oh, yes. This Sanji was not about to go back to sleep.

"It's not what it looks like, sorry," he defended. To illustrate that point, he removed his arms from around Sanji's waist and pulled back his leg. "Nothing happened."

"Nothing!" Sanji pointed at Zoro, and then at himself, both of which were half-clothed at best and rather disheveled. "How is this nothing?"

Zoro sighed and ran a hand through his hair - it was so typical that the shit cook wouldn't remember anything, not even the good parts. "You threw up all over me, so I had to take off my clothes, and when we got back to the Sunny you told me you didn't want to sleep in your suit and insisted I take you out of it."

"Okay, that makes sense, but what doesn't make sense is why I'm sleeping your goddamn hammock!" Sanji pressed.

"Eh..." Zoro rubbed the back of his neck. "I couldn't get you to go to sleep last night without it. You sort of insisted I hold you."

Sanji groaned and ran his hands through his hair, pulling his knees up to his chest. "Did any of the crew see us like this?"

Zoro shrugged, and gestured around the room. "Not yet, but if you get any louder, they will wake up and sure will." Usopp, Chopper, Luffy, Franky, and Brook were all sleeping soundly. It was still relatively early, and thus it appeared that even hung over, Sanji still woke up early due to his obligations in the kitchen.

"Good." Sanji climbed out of the marimo's hammock and stretched. He pointed at Zoro one more time for emphasis. "So nothing happened, no funny business, no touching, right?"

Zoro shook his head. "Nope, nothing at all." Then he paused, and bit his lip again, recalling the bruising kiss. "Well, I didn't do anything."

A raised curly eyebrow greeted his words. "What does that mean, shitty marimo?"

"You may have...uh...kissed me."

The cigarette Sanji had been about to light fell from his lips. He turned his head slowly to glare at Zoro, horror etched into his features. "You're lying," he gasped. "I didn't. You're shitting me, right?"

For half a second, Zoro almost wished he were, because he couldn't stand to see the look of absolute disgust written on the man's face at the thought of them kissing, but the words were already out. "Not a lie." His voice sounded stronger than he felt. "But that's all that happened. You kissed me a couple times, I didn't kiss back, and I kissed you once to shut you up, and then you threw up and I put you to bed. That's all." To lighten the situation, Zoro gave a little shrug as he got up. "Well, when I say you kiss me...I mean that was your intention. It felt more like you were trying to slobber on the back of my throat."

Sanji snatched his cigarette up off the floor and lit it. He ground his heels into the scratched up floor of the men's cabin. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Pulling a shirt over his head, Zoro bestowed upon the cook his best cocky grin. "It means I've met dogs that kiss better than you, _love cook_." This, of course, was a lie. Zoro would rather kiss Sanji than anything else in the world, heaven, or hell. His tongue was deft and treaded lightly, his jaw was strong and demanding, his lips were full and sweet and the way his goatee scratched Zoro's chin sent chills up his spine.

The cook in question scoffed. "I'm sure that getting kissed by you last night was no pleasure cruise for me, either, maybe that's why I repressed the memory."

Zoro shook his head, and put a finger to his lips, thinking. "No, I think you said something along the lines...what was it?" He held up his finger in fake remembrance. "Oh yes, _if that's how you kiss your husband, I'd marry you all over again_."

It didn't take long for the swordsman to realize that was too much truth at once. Sanji blushed for all of half a second, but it was quickly chased away when the male's face went pale, pale because all the blood was rushing a much more dangerous place: his limbs. His hands were shaking in clenched fists near his pockets and his toes were tapping the ground. The cook was obviously under the impression that Zoro was lying, was rubbing the actions of last night into his face, was exaggerating to the highest degree. "What the fuck, Zoro?" he growled through gritted teeth. "What are you playing at with me?"

"I'm not playing at anything!" the swordsman screamed back, temper flaring at the thought of being accused of doing something he didn't do.

"And here I thought that maybe you had a respectful bone in your body, but I don't even know where you get off -" Sanji was rampaging now, storming around the building. "Do you even have any pride, saying shit like that?"

"Pride?" Zoro stood opposite the pacing cook, feet spread apart, shoulders hunched. "Who are you to talk about pride when you make shitty accusations like this -"

"Accusations? I bet you fucking took advantage of me last night, you sick freak!" They were facing off, now a set of two angry male animals with their territories threatened, or rather, their emotions and delicate sensibilities.

"_Took advantage of you?_ You have to be fucking kidding me, you were throwing yourself at me and I didn't do a goddamn thing!"

"There you go again, saying I _threw myself at you_, when you've been slobbering all over me for days, like the mindless animal you are.."

"Goddamn it, Sanji! Why can't you just admit how you feel, you bloody fucking coward!"

_Silence_. The cook looked as though Zoro's words were a bullet that had just ripped through his heart, his visible eye wide and pulsating, his ever-clutching fingers reached up to his chest. And unconsciously, Zoro held out a hand toward him, his arm shaking, his open palm trying to express how sorry he was that he allowed those words to slip out, how foolish he was for saying the one thing that he never thought the cook was. But it was too late, and the damage was done. But in that moment, before angers could explode any further, before any more feelings could get hurt, a soft voice sounded from the corner of the room.

"Sanji..." it begged. "Zoro... please stop fighting." It was Chopper, and he was still wrapped up in his blanket in chibi form, biting the corner of it, tears streaming down his face. "I don't know what happened, but please stop!"

Both men looked at the young reindeer that they cared for like an adorable younger brother, and their killing intent fizzled and died like a flame under water. Sanji murmured an apology to Chopper, looked around and saw that the rest of the men in the crew had woken up to their words as well. "Teh," he said, storming out of the room. "I'm making breakfast."

Left alone with Chopper, and the rest of the crew, Zoro felt ashamed beyond the point of trying to explain himself and all the awful words he said. He heard the creaking of machinery as Franky got out of his own hammock that he hung over the sides of anyway. He placed a heavy steel hand on Zoro's shoulder.

"That was rough, bro," he underestimated.

"Yeah, but, Zoro?" Usopp spoke up, his voice still timid although the fighting moment had passed. "I don't understand. Why did Sanji talk like you were gonna like..rape him or something?" He chuckled nervously. "I mean, that's silly, right?"

"Of course it is," Luffy added. "Nakama don't hurt each other like that." He paused. "But what's rape?"

"Yohohoho," Brook interjected. "Don't worry about it, captain-san! What's important here is that we let Zoro-san and Sanji-san work out their problems on their own!"

"Hn, thanks Brook," Zoro muttered. He rolled his shoulder, dislodging Franky's hand as he did so. "Just stupid of me to say the word coward, that's all."

"Nah," Luffy said from behind him. The swordsman turned to see his captain smiling. "It's sort of true, ne? I mean, you both are cowards."

"Oi, Luffy," Usopp said. "Far be it from me to correct you, but I think you may be referring to the wrong members of the crew."

The boy with the straw hat shook his head. "Nope, Zoro and Sanji can be cowards, but they come through in the end. I don't mean like you Usopp -"

"Oi!"

"- but they're afraid of getting their insides hurt."

Chopper scratched his head and pulled his hat on over his antlers. "No, Luffy, they always get their insides hurt, I know. I patch 'em up all the time."

"Baka!" Luffy stretched his face in a playful smile. "I mean their hearts, Chopper!"

"Heh," Franky chuckled. "You got that right, captain!"

Zoro groaned. "Leave me alone, you assholes, and don't breath a word of this to anybody else." He fixed the clown trio, Chopper, Usopp and Luffy, with his most deadly glare. "Or you won't be saying anything ever again."

Chopper and Usopp cowered and nodded, but Luffy just laughed, agreeing and clapping his feet together. "Fine, fine!" he chimed. "As long as I get breakfast, who cares?" And he left the room, calling _meat, _and probably waking everyone else in a five mile radius. Rubbing aggravation from his eyes, Zoro followed at a slow, death march pace. He was not eager to eat breakfast under the cook's hateful glare, for as fast as he may try to choke it down, it wasn't about to be pleasant.

...And pleasant it was not. The cook slammed his dish in front of him so hard that scalding hot soup stained the front of his newly washed shirt and sizzling on his arms, until he ran to the sink and rinsed them off. His portion was meager and he wasn't granted seconds nor a glass of anything to drink. It was childish of Sanji, but not unexpected, and although the food was bland, it was not unappetizing, although the swordsman suspected that Sanji may have tried to make it taste bad. Making food taste awful, though, was something the cook was unable to do. After clearing his plate, the swordsman left rather quickly, taking off to go train on the land they were docked at.

It went on like this for three days. Sanji cooked, Zoro ate. Zoro trained, Sanji waited on the woman with a smile painted on his face. Sanji locked all the booze away, and Zoro went and drank in the bars in town. They avoided each other with a practiced skill, revolving around like repelling magnets, somehow always sensing where the other was and learning how to avoid it. Whenever Zoro thought of something to say to Sanji, he got halfway there before he decided it sounded stupid or it wasn't good enough. Then he would decide that it was stupid for him to apologize, anyway, because the cook really had been all over him, and he clearly wanted Zoro, and if he was too afraid of homosexuality to admit it, then damn him and let him be miserable. Hours would pass, and Zoro would realize that this was making him miserable as well, probably more so, and he'd start brainstorming all over again.

It was afternoon on the third day, and Zoro walked back on deck after training for a good five hours. He went to the boy's cabin and ripped off his shirt and haramaki and boats, leaving on his pants, and headed up to the bath house to take a nice, warm shower. He opened the door, and went to go into the separate room where the bath was, but found the door locked. He groaned, pressing his head against the door in frustration. Probably Nami taking another hour long soak...

And that was when he heard it. It was faint, and slightly broken sounding, but it was a cry he would recognize from anywhere -

"_Zoro._"

Sanji's voice, on the other side of the door, speaking his name. Following this, there was a moan, and a gasp for breath, along with the slick sounds of a hand rubbing up and down arousal. Sanji was on the other side of this wooden door, moaning his name, and touching himself. It was too much for the swordsman to handle.

He glanced at the door for a second, and then decided he'd deal with Franky later, before kicking it down with all his might and storming inside.

Sanji looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights. His dick was in his hand, and he was fully closed except for his pants and boxers, which had been slightly pulled down but still rested above his ass. Zoro closed the busted door behind him, not saying a word.

"Oi, what the fuck, I-I-I locked it, didn't I?" Sanji stumbled, and he futilely tried to shove his still erect cock inside his pants.

"Don't," Zoro growled. His eyes were fixated on the weeping arousal, and then they traveled up the body of the man in front of him, the lean figure pressed against the bathroom wall, his face flushed and his bottom lip pink from biting down on his cries.

"No!" Sanji insisted. "It's not what it looks like..I..."

"You said my name." Zoro's voice was low, dark with lust, gravely on his tongue. He licked his bottom lip in anticipation. "Don't expect me to look at my husband touching himself and saying my name and do nothing about it."

"I'm not your shitty husband, marimo!" Sanji started backing away, but the swordsman was too quick. He placed a hand at either side of the cook's head, blocking his path to exit. He leaned in and took a deep whiff of the scent of Sanji's telltale musk, the sweaty scent of sex that often permeated in their shared bedroom at home.

"I'm not going to fuck you," he whispered in the man's quivering ear. "But I'm going to suck your cock, Sanji, and you're going to scream my name."

"Back off, shitty bastard, I still haven't forgiven you for the other day!" Sanji shoved at Zoro's shoulder, but it was weak, and the man didn't budge an inch at the touch.

"You will when I'm done." Zoro lightly nibbled at his ear and Sanji shivered under his touch.

"No I won't," he replied, but he sounded as though he was about to weep. Zoro knew that his sexual excitement must be torturing him, warring with his emotions, but he was too fired up, too full of desire now to quit. He stroked Sanji's jaw and then found the place where the man's pulse resided, that special sweet spot on the cook's neck, and dipped his head in, sucking deeply. The man cried out and unconsciously thrust his hips forward into Zoro's own. The cook's erection pressed into Zoro's own and he bit down at the contact into the blond man's skin, eliciting another delicious moan.

"I'd hate to brag," Zoro muttered into Sanji's neck. The cook snorted at this, and he ignored him. "But it's a rather delicate strength to wield a sword in one's mouth. I have muscles and dexterity in my jaw that no other human has developed." He licked down Sanji's throat until he found the man's collarbone, and began to kiss along where it jutted out, as the man below his ministrations took deep, shaking breaths. "So yes, I'm going to suck your cock, Sanji, and yes, you're going to scream my name, and yes, you will forgive me when I am done."

"Fuck you," Sanji muttered, but he did not push the swordsman off. Zoro took this as a sign to go, and he reached up and shoved down at the lithe man's shoulders.

"Sit down," he ordered.

"Why?"

"Because otherwise your knees would give out halfway through."

Sanji sunk down to the ground, his back scraping against the wall. "That's bullshit, you bragging asshole," he said, but his body was quaking in anxiety, betraying his words.

Zoro ignored him once more and kneeled between the man's long, outstretched legs. He palmed his arousal through the pinstripe pants, and the cook ground against the touch. "Stop teasing," he begged.

The swordsman obeyed and reached down to free the man's hardness from his pants. It sprung forth, still completely erect from earlier, red and weeping, the thick vein down the middle pulsating and begging to be touched. Zoro leaned down, and gave Sanji the quickest look, taking in his fearful eyes but his flushed cheeks, growing hard at the sight of the cook chewing his thick bottom lip.

And then he fixated his mind on the job before him, lapping up the puddle of precum on the man's head, and then using that to swirl around the upper rim, before taking the tip in his mouth and sucking gently. He licked down the thick vein in the center and then pulled Sanji's pants lower, freeing his balls. Zoro bent down another few inches and took one into his mouth, fondling it with his tongue and running circles around the loose skin, pulling slightly and suckling it even lighter.

"Nnn," Sanji groaned from above him. Zoro then moved to the next ball and took that into his mouth, giving it the same treatment, before pulling back, saliva already dripping from the corner of his mouth. He spared another glance at the cook's face, his eyes burning with determination and the fire of both battle and lust.

"Tell me to," he ordered.

"Never," Sanji choked out. "Get the fuck out."

Zoro went back to Sanji's cock and swirled his tongue around the head, and then clamped down with his lips, pressing tightly, and took the entirety of the cook's arousal into his mouth, slowly moving down into his lips touched the man's base and the tip of his arousal was itching the back of his mouth, bleeding precum down his throat. He pulled back up again, just as slowly, and ripped his lips off with a slick, graphic _pop_.

"Tell me to," he repeated.

Sanji gasped, and then ran his fingers into Zoro's short, green hair and tried to push him back down, but the swordsman didn't move. He growled at the cook. "Shove me down after you tell me to."

"Fuck you, marimo," Sanji groaned. "Please just..." he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, offering complete surrender. "Please suck my cock, Zoro."

Zoro didn't respond verbally. He bent his head down and took Sanji into his mouth once again, working the man's arousal up and down at breakneck speed, pausing occasionally to lap at the crying slit, and not pausing at all when he used his warm hand to clasp the cook's balls in his palm and patiently massage them. He positioned himself properly to allow himself to deep throat the full erection, and with this new adjustment, found Sanji's hands deep in his hair again, this time pushing down on him, thrusting in deeper and deeper every time.

"Oh god," the cook gasped from above him. "Oh, god, oh, shit, shit, shit..." He keened and moaned, thrusting his hips forward. Zoro clamped a hand around the man's base and kept his orgasm in.

"Not yet," he muttered, Sanji's cock still fully in his mouth, "Not until you say my name."

Unfortunately, the swordsman at distracted the cook. "How-how -" he gasped. "How do you speak so clearly with it in your mouth?"

Zoro chuckled, sending deep vibrations through Sanji's arousal, and the cook forgot that his question went unanswered, and began to thrust into Zoro's wet, warm mouth once more. Up and down the swordsman went, fast and then slow for a beat or two, before speeding up again, keeping the task unpredictable and exciting, coaxing Sanji's body to begin to shake under his touch, the man's toes curling, shaking his head from side to side as he tried to keep his own body under control.

"Fuck!" he screamed, as his tip brushed the back of Zoro's throat again. "Oh god, Zoro, yes!"

And with that, the swordsman released his touch around the man's base, and his orgasm came spilling forth, coating the back of Zoro's mouth, dripping down his throat in thick floods. As he came, the cook trembled beneath him, bucking and groaning from the deep back of his throat. Zoro licked and sucked until it was all gone, and then slowly pulled his mouth back as the man grew limp in his mouth, getting one last taste from the slit, and then his lips fell off completely.

Zoro leaned back, trying to ignore the growing erection in his own pants, just the drink in the vision in front of him. Sanji's eyes were closed, he was panting, and cock and balls were now a slippery, wet mess of arousal and spit. Near the end, he had splayed out his hands against the floor, as if trying to hold his top half above, and he had dug his fingernails into the dark wood as orgasm gripped him. Now all the muscles in the cook's body were loose and limp, and he was hanging in front of Zoro like a thoroughly fucked rag doll.

"I'm sorry I called you a coward," Zoro whispered, speaking dumbly as his lips were now numb and swollen. "It was untrue."

Sanji shook his head weakly. "No..." he gasped. "I was wrong. You were right. It took me a few days, and came back in bits and pieces," he opened his eyes and fixed Zoro with his blue gaze. "But I remembered what happened a few days ago...what I said...how you kissed me." He touched his lips again, as if unbelieving. "That's why I was up here - I just couldn't - the thought of that kiss."

Zoro grinned, licking his reddened lips. "Want another?"

The cook's visible eye widened. "Give me a minute, I'm beat! I don't bounce back up like rubber or something!"

"I meant a kiss!" Zoro yelled. "And don't bring up rubber, shit! That makes me think of Luffy!"

Sanji's eyes widened even further, and he burst out laughing. "Oh, crap," he said, grabbing his stomach. "Do you think he - do you think it -" He pulled in air through his teeth. "Do you think he can stretch it?"

A thick hand fell down on the cook's blond head. "That's my captain shitty cook!" Zoro berated him. "And...god that's just sick, you're such a pervert!" But the swordsman couldn't help it, the image was too much, and he soon found himself laughing along with the cook, rolling his eyes all the while at the stupid pervert's brain.

When their laughter finally petered off, Zoro looked up at Sanji, who had buttoned his pants back up, and was sitting there looking at the swordsman rather demurely. "So...we good?" he asked.

Sanji cracked the smallest smile. "When we have lover's spats, is that how you fix them? A blow job?"

Zoro rubbed the back of his neck. "Not always. You like flowers. And new kitchen knives. And suits. And tickets to the opera." He shook his head. "I'm never doing that again, though, worst three hours of my life. Best sex, after though."

"You went to an opera with me?" Sanji questioned.

"I did," Zoro answered. "You like when I wear a suit, though, I found out that night. That was nice."

"You...in a suit?" Sanji raised one curled eyebrow. "No offense, but that sounds pretty awful."

The swordsman shrugged. "A suit and reading glasses. You make me put them on sometimes, just to take them off. You're a real pervert, cook."

The cook shrugged. "I wasn't the one with a dick in his mouth a minute ago."

Zoro leaned back and lewdly palmed his package. "Wanna be?" he teased.

Sanji's face turned scarlet. "I- uh - do I have to - um - repay the favor now, or something?"

The swordsman laughed and shook his head. "Nah, I was just kidding, calm down." He felt himself again through the fabric, finding that his erection had completely disappeared during their conversation. "I'm not even hard anymore, must have been you talking about Luffy."

The cook laughed, reaching into his pack of cigarettes in his pants, pulling one out, and lighting it. "So where do we go from here?" he asked softly, following his words with a drag.

"I don't know," Zoro answered honestly. "But we'll figure it out, we always do." He smiled softly, and leaned in, pulled the cigarette out of the cook's mouth, lightly brushing his lips against Sanji's own. "Because we're nakama, right?"

"Nakama don't give each other blow jobs," Sanji grumbled, but he leaned forward, expected another kiss. Zoro gave it to him, a chaste peck.

Sanji didn't allow this, and he gripped the back of the swordsman's neck and pulled the man in, dipping his tongue into his mouth and tasting the green haired man. He ripped off suddenly, and cursed. "Shit, I can taste myself," before plunging back in, going for kiss after kiss, and Zoro could only close his eyes and lean into them, reciprocating in kind, taking breaths like a dying man pulled from the ocean.

It was wonderful, to have Sanji safe in his arms again, kissing him back with fervor, hands roaming and pressing their bodies into each other for dear life. Over the years, he had memorized the touch and feel of the other man's body as if it were his own, and because of this, he felt it was as much his body as it was the cook's. He needed the other man, he need to touch him and kiss him, sure, but even more so, he needed Sanji's smile, Sanji's laugh, Sanji's pervert twirling around women, and the sight of Sanji sleeping in bed as the morning sun danced across his face...

"Oh my god!"

The two men ripped apart from their passionate display, glancing toward the door, which had been shut, but left unlocked, since Zoro had kicked the mechanism apart. Because of this, one orange-haired navigator was standing in the doorway, holding a white fluffy towel, with a shaking, manicured hand held up to her mouth.

Sanji's hand dropped from Zoro's body, leaving him unexpectedly cold, as he stared up in horror at the beautiful woman he worshiped looking down at the unexplainable scene. "Nami-san!" he gasped, and Zoro hung his head.

_Not this again_, he groaned.

_A/N: Blow jobs are fun! Hope you liked, since I trashed the first and second run throughs of this. Please read and review and let me know_.


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: Oda owns One Piece and all it's characters. Caesar Clown owns "smiley" and Law owns a yellow submarine and Makino owns a bar. I own nothing. **

"RORONOA!"

Zoro jerked awake, flying upward on the couch, and he sent Sanji, who was curled around his naked form, flying to the floor. He looked around wildly for the source of the disturbance, and found, standing at the edge of the couch, face completely calm despite two naked, post-coital men in front of her, none other than Tashigi, the female swordswoman who worked under Smoker.

As always, he felt the blood rush to his face, and it was even worse this time, because he was naked and covered in both his and the cook's bodily fluids, long dried by now, but still quite plain stains on the fabric of the sofa. But more so, it was the horrible truth that this woman looked ridiculously like Kuina and even behaved like her in some aspects, thus her presence never failed to unnerve him.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, hastily covering his groin with a loose piece of clothing.

"Please spare me the theatrics, Zoro! It's been days since we've heard from you, and Smoker's chewed through a thousand cigars in that time! Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"My phone?" Zoro echoed. He looked at the black little rectangle that he always had to carry around and touched it lightly. It didn't do anything. He touched it again, heavier this time. Still no response.

"It's dead, idiot," Sanji spat. He was crouched behind the couch, out of Tashigi's line of sight, and then rose, his pants now on. He fished around with the clothing on the floor for his shirt and pulled that over his shoulders, making his way across the room to the woman who was fuming at the armrest.

The cook took her hand and brushed his lips against it in a chaste kiss. "It's been a while, my lady, but it's a pleasure to see you again," he murmured, respectively. Oddly enough, there were no hearts or swooning, which Zoro had expected. "Could I offer you something to eat or drink?" he inquired.

"Thank you, Mr. Roronoa, I'd love to have a coffee while I discuss with you husband -" she threw Zoro a glare that made him cringe "- the mess he had gotten himself, and everybody else around him, into."

Sanji left to go brew some coffee without another word, and Zoro watched after him, completely bemused by his attitude toward this woman. Shrugging it off, he turned his gaze back to the female in question, his hands still holding a slim piece of fabric over his private parts. "Could you at least turn your back while I put something on?" he growled.

She rolled her eyes. "Please, Zoro, it's not like it's something I haven't seen before, but if you insist on being modest..." She turned.

Zoro stood and discovered the piece of fabric he had over him was the towel, and then memories of last night flooded back into his brain. He hadn't been wearing anything else, had he? Grumbling, he wrapped the swath around his waist and then scurried off toward the bedroom with as much pride as he could muster, returning moments later completely clothed and a bit less bashful. Tashigi surveyed him with a raised eyebrow, and then motioned to the counter, where a cup of coffee and two cups of tea were sitting, alongside his husband, who was smoking and staring anywhere else but at the two of them.

"Would you like me to give you two some privacy?" Sanji asked politely.

Tashigi shook her head. "You'd listen in anyway, Mr. Roronoa, but thank you for offering."

The cook chuckled. "Fair enough."

As they sat down, Zoro took the cup of tea in his hands and took a sip. "I didn't know that phones died," he said morosely. "How do you feed them?"

Sanji pinched the bridge of his nose, and the pirate knew he had said something wrong, especially when Tashigi sighed heavily and pushed her cup away from her. "Please, Zoro," she said, "I really am in no mood to be playing games."

"Well then you shouldn't have broken into my apartment," he snapped back.

"Stop acting like a petulant child!" She bent down and reached into a slim, black briefcase at her feet, pulling out a manila folder stuffed with files, and began to flip through them. It was then that Zoro noticed she wasn't dressed in her usual fight-ready attire, but rather a black business pants-suit cut for a woman, with a sharp, high collar and low black heels. She actually looked quite...put together, powerful, and attractive.

Tashigi pushed a file showing some pictures of a boat toward him, and then pointed at the information listed below. "What we've been trying to tell you is that we think we've found where you could erase your troubles, but the problem is, it's a private cruiser, and we wouldn't be able to interfere or offer you back up at all. No warrants, no go, and it's even harder when it's heading into international waters."

"The cruise with the slavers? We already know about it," Zoro replied stiffly. "My friends and I are going to board at..."

"Elizabeth," Sanji filled in for him.

"Yeah, there, and we're going to cut them all down. Problem solved. You didn't have to come all the way here to tell me."

Tashigi frowned. "Cut them down," she muttered disdainfully under her breath. "I swear, I don't even know how you survive in modern society. That isn't how it works."

Zoro furrowed his brow in thought. "Doesn't matter how it works," he assessed. "If you cut them down, then they aren't a problem anymore, and it's solved."

The swordswoman buried her face in her hands and shook her head from side to side. She raised a weary hand and waved it at Sanji. "Please, Mr. Roronoa, I don't know how you do it, I certainly never could, but could you try to talk some sense into him?"

Sanji gave her a look that clearly said he would never be willing to do the woman any favors, and Zoro nearly gaped at the sheer malice in his eyes. _What was his problem? Tashigi was a woman, and the cook isn't like this to woman. _He thought back to his world, when Sanji had meet Tashigi there, and how he had insisted that Zoro not harm her, even though she was a capable marine, and thus their enemy. What was so different in this world? Up until now, every woman they had come across in New York had been fawned over Sanji just the same, so why was he about to change now?

Nevertheless, the cook conceded to her request. "Zoro, there are laws here, laws that prevent people from carrying weapons, and especially from using them. To board a ship that you aren't invited to, alone and unarmed, could result in severe legal repercussions. If you are to board that cruise liner, you will have to be stealthy, remain nearly unseen, and have a clean escape route lined up. Even more importantly, you must be sure to leave ample proof of those you _cut down_, as you put it, deserved to be cut down, or even all your connections will not be able to save your ass from first-degree murder charges." He let the ashes from his cigarette fall in his empty tea cup. "And that is why I'll be coming with you guys, because I will, of course, be the brains of the operation."

"What?" Zoro snapped. "You aren't coming with us, you're just a cook, here."

Sanji gave the swordsman a pointed glare. "Yes, I'm just a cook," he answered, but his tone spoke volumes. He was not just a cook, was he? No, if Sanji could take down a gunman in one swift, unbothered kick, then he certainly wasn't _just _a chef.

Tashigi seemed to be more preoccupied with other things that Zoro had said. "What troubles me is that you said you are bringing others with you. Not that I don't believe you should need back up, but getting civilians involved is an awful idea, Zoro..."

"It's fine." He looked at the pictures of the boat, and decided it couldn't house too many enemies, especially since most of them would be rich twits anyway. Although they'd have security, that was for sure. "My friends can handle themselves."

"Unless they are retired CIA, or something, Zoro, there is no way I can get Smoker to capture clearance for them if they're revealed to be involved. Which means you'll have to disable security cameras, wear disguises, and make sure nobody left alive witnesses them..."

Sanji nodded. "She's right, but I think I know exactly who can take care of that for us."

Tashigi groaned. "You are no better than him, Mr. Roronoa, sometimes. I'm worried sick about you two, as well as whoever you are bringing along." She looked pointedly at Zoro. "You better leave Chopper out of this," she ordered. "He's far too young to be involved in such a wreck."

"Of course I will!" Zoro snapped, although in his opinion, Chopper could defend himself just fine. It wasn't in him to doubt his nakama. But then something hit him, "How do you know Chopper?"

She gave him that odd look again. "Well, it's true I haven't seen him in years, but I used to see him all the time when we were dating, remember? He gave wonderful advice about my diabetes."

Zoro spit out his tea all over the counter, and Sanji cursed at him and flung a kick in his direction, which he dodged, while screaming, "You dated Chopper?"

Tashigi slammed her open palm down on the counter. "I told you I wasn't in the mood, Zoro! Jesus, stop fooling around!" She picked up her files and shoved them back into her briefcase, clearly flustered, and then cast a glance around her directly toward the three swords that were displayed on the shelves on the side of the room. "I'll inform Smoker, and he'll call you later and deal with you, since I can't right now!" And she jumped off her stool to storm out, heels clanking on the hardwood floors, and before she left, she whipped around to say, "And you better answer your phone!"

"But it's dead!" Zoro insisted.

"Then charge it!" she yelled in return, and slammed the door so hard that the pots and pans Sanji had hanging from a rack rattled. Wide eyed, Zoro looked at the cook, who had finished wiping up the split coffee and wasn't looking him in the eye.

"What's her problem?" he asked.

Sanji didn't meet his eye as he wiped again at the already clean spot on the counter. "I don't know," he said brusquely.

"Yes you do." Zoro tugged the rag out of his hand. "Don't lie to me."

The cook grumbled and reached for another cigarette, which he lit before speaking. "Sorry, I didn't think to tell you because I didn't know we'd be seeing her soon...but Tashigi...it seems like you know her, don't you? You didn't mention her in your stories."

"Where I came from, she was a marine. She worked under Smoker," Zoro explained. "We only bumped into her a handful of times, I didn't really think she was worth mentioning." That wasn't true, because the swordsman recalled that when he was telling the story, he had considered mentioning her, but decided against it, because he didn't want to seem like he was attached to the woman, just because she oddly resembled Kuina and that struck a note in his heart.

"Well, she works under Smoker here, too. But in reality it's been more than a handful of times..." he took a drag from his smoke. "The two of you used to date, it was before I really knew you."

"What?" Zoro echoed. Him...and Tashigi? Impossible. Ludicrous.

"Yeah, you guys were on and off for years, I heard. You broke it off saying you couldn't love her for who she was, and it wasn't fair to her, but you just saw Kuina in her, you know..."

Zoro gulped. That sounded all too true.

"Yet you guys kept getting back together, I guess because she really liked you. She...wasn't too happy when we got married." Sanji gritted his teeth. "She's always been kind to my face, but she got drunk at the wedding reception and pulled me aside to tell me that it'd never last," he spat in the sink, as if there was an awful taste in his mouth. "Because I couldn't give you children."

The swordsman gaped at him. "I dated her?"

Sanji left the question unanswered, figuring Zoro was just coming to terms with it, which he was.

"Does that mean..." Zoro stared at the door where the woman had left minutes before. "Does that mean that I had sex with her?"

The cook's head shot up and fixed Zoro with the cruelest, coldest stare he had ever seen. Those eyes were no longer the ocean or the sky, but cool, merciless ice. "Yeah," he retorted. "What, wish you had knocked her up while you were at it?"

Zoro leaned back, horrified, although he realized a bit too belatedly that his question had been on the side of tactless. "What?" he gasped. "No, what the fuck, Sanji, where did that even come from?"

Sanji put out his cigarette viciously in the ashtray. "Sorry," he bit out, although he didn't sound repentant at all. "I was out of line." He picked up his tie from where it was, draped over the chair, and quickly tied it around his neck and tightened it. "I'm going to work," he said. Zoro glanced at the clock - it was early yet, but he didn't comment on it. He watched as the man fished through a drawer and brought out some weird black string, which he fastened to some holes in the wall and then to Zoro's phone. "Give it a couple of hours, and it'll come back to life. Try to answer it when it goes off." He walked to the door, still moving stiffly, and shoved his feet in his shoes, grabbing his keys and phone and wallet off the table.

Without a glance back, the cook said, "And feed yourself," before leaving, slamming the door behind him just as Tashigi had done.

Zoro sat there on the barstool, head spinning and thoroughly pissed off. When had the cook become so moody and sensitive? Oh right, he was always moody and sensitive, and this is why he didn't fucking marry him.

The swordsman winced at that cruel thought and tried to collect himself. He scowled at the fridge that he didn't know the code to, and fished around in the cabinets until he found some nutritional looking bars that tasted like sandpaper but filled him up. He sat there eating, sipping his tea and staring out the window at the busy city below, his mind consumed with thoughts of last night... and thoughts of perhaps having a different type of sexual relationship. Perhaps...with a woman? Zoro was a man of brutal strength and pride, and yet he had let himself be dominated last night, and fully enjoyed it. It was a freeing experience, but if it was always like this with Sanji, he knew it would grow to grate on his nerves.

A vision of a naked, faceless female flashed in his mind for a moment, and Zoro dismissed it. No, he'd make things work with Sanji, he swore his entire life on it. It was just going to be that much harder than he thought.

ZOSAN

That evening Sanji came home late, and fixed dinner in silence. When Zoro asked him what was wrong he responded with "nothing at all, just a long day at work." He went to bed before Zoro and when the swordsman came in to lie down next to him, the cook rolled away to the far side of the bed, mumbled that he was tired, and fell asleep. Zoro felt unnaturally cold.

The next morning, when Zoro got up, Sanji was gone, and there was a note on the fridge with the combination and a plate of breakfast in there for him to heat up. The swordsman ate it cold, as he couldn't figure out the microwave box, and spent the day training. Luffy called him and asked him if they had ice cream. They didn't. He whined into his ear for a full ten minutes before Zoro heard Ace in the background promise they'd head to the store later, and then promptly hung up.

That evening was a replay of the previous one, and by now Zoro was getting frustrated. When he pressed Sanji for what was wrong, the cook repeated himself, and said that a lot of people were sick at work, said he had to pick up slack, said not to worry about it. As much as Zoro wanted to believe him, there was something about the cook's attitude that was off.

"Well, if your so tired from work, why don't we just buy something for dinner?" he offered to the cook. All he got in return was a scathing glance, as if the swordsman had insulted his mother and his dick in one breath, and Zoro left it at that, eating his prepared dinner in peace.

He tried to get Sanji to watch the television box with him, but the cook said he wanted to read a book. That night in bed, Zoro scooted closer to Sanji's curled up figure - he could hear by his breathing that the man was not yet sleeping. He placed an arm around the man's form and tugged him into his chest.

"Not tonight, Zoro," Sanji said quietly, but firmly, removing Zoro's arm and pushing away.

"I didn't mean we had to fuck," Zoro explained. "It's just cold." That was a lie. It took quite a drop in temperature to make the swordsman cold, and the cook knew this.

Nevertheless, he didn't call Zoro out on it. He just said, "Turn on the heat, then, I don't mind," and rolled over, closing off anymore conversation.

Zoro ran his hands through his hair and groaned. It was pretty clear to him now that the cook wasn't just tired, he was playing some sort of "what's wrong-nothing's wrong" game, the one women liked to pull, and the swordsman knew no way around it besides just jumping the other man and demanding answers. Still, he was sure the man had actually had a long day at work, and he wasn't about to try to get a rise from him. Especially since Zoro was terrified that if he did attack Sanji that the cook would actually _not rise _to the occasion, and that would be worse than the situation they were in now.

So the swordsman rolled over, went to sleep, and woke up alone again.

It was after reading the same note on the fridge and having another cold breakfast, and then training for a few hours, taking a shower, then pacing for a good hour or so, that Zoro finally picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for, clicked it, and listened to it dial and ring.

"Nami speaking."

"Nami!" Zoro gasped into the phone, partly relieved that she picked up, and now partly mortified by the fact that he was going to this witch of a woman for advice.

"Oh, hey, Zoro! I haven't heard from you in forever, not since Chopper said you hit your head and thought you were a pirate."

"I didn't hit my head!"

He could practically hear the woman rolling her eyes. "Sure, sure, so what do you need?"

"Who said I needed anything?" Zoro asked defensively.

"You don't call me unless you need anything. Unless it has to do with Sanji." There was an uncomfortable pause. "It has to do with Sanji, doesn't it?"

Zoro grunted an affirmative into the phone.

"And you don't know what you did?"

"No idea."

She sighed into the phone, and the speakers crackled in response. "Think real hard, Zoro. When did it start?"

The swordsman scratched his green hair and ran the situations through his mind. Definitely before yesterday...maybe even the day before that? "Well, we fucked three days ago, and that was great, so I don't think that was it."

"Who topped?"

"Sa - wait, what? That has nothing to do with anything!"

The woman on the other end laughed boisterously. "I know, I just like to see if I can trick dirty details out of you." She started speaking cutely, as if she was pouting, saying, "I just want some stories or something, is that too much to ask?"

"You pervert!" Zoro screamed into the receiver. "I should have known you would be a pervert!"

"Okay, okay," Nami said dismissively. "So you had sex, great, and then what?"

"Slept."

"And the next morning...?"

"Tashigi woke us up, mad about not calling Smoker back."

On the other end, Nami gasped. "Oi, Zoro, your ex was there and you didn't think that would irk Sanji?"

It had actually occurred to the swordsman, but Sanji had seemed pretty fine after Tashigi had left, in his opinion. "Maybe, but that would be stupid. He's been ignoring me for days now."

"Did you say anything about her after she left?"

"No -" Zoro stopped. "Well, I didn't remember she was my ex, so Sanji had to tell me." He sat down, trying really hard to recall exactly what he had said, but it had seemed so silly at the time he hadn't even bothered to store it away. "I asked if I fucked her, I think."

Nami cursed into the phone. "What a stupid question, Zoro! Jesus Christ, you are dumb as a rock sometimes! Of course that pissed Sanji off!"

"Oi, woman, who are you calling stupid!"

"You!" she screeched in return. "You better apologize, big time. You know how torn up Sanji gets about the...baby thing."

"Baby thing?" What did babies have to do with fucking Tashigi?

"You know, because you two can't have babies." Nami sounded as though she was trying to be delicate, and it really didn't suit her.

"Why does that matter?"

"Because you and Sanji want babies, right?"

What? Zoro nearly dropped the phone. He echoed his thoughts aloud. "What?"

"You guys decided like a couple months ago...you were looking to adopt in a couple more years, after getting some things worked out...come on, you guys were so psyched about it, I couldn't get Sanji to shut up. Remember you guys fought and destroyed the Starbucks down the street because you guys couldn't agree on what the kid would call you guys, and you suggested that Sanji should be _mommy_?" She giggled. "You don't have to be shy about it, we all think you'd make great parents."

"Parents," Zoro replied flatly. He thought back to when he walked in on Sanji in the kitchen, mumbling _he said I'd make a good father_. He recalled the hurt in Sanji's eyes when he was ranting about the children in the dojo being disrespectful and noisy. And now, he remembered that Sanji had exploded, completely irrationally, saying something along the lines of, _wish you'd knocked her up while you were at it_.

"Fuck," he muttered.

"Do you finally see what you did wrong?" Nami asked, teasing in her tone.

Zoro grunted affirmatively, although it sounded rather weak. "Thanks, Nami," he managed to say. "I'll see you around."

"Sure thing, jerk face," she chimed, and then hung up before he could throw back another insult, which he was in too much shock to do at that moment anyway.

The only question that was running around in his head repeatedly was _why_.Why would he ever mention having kids to Sanji, a man who was very insistent on being straight, and thus kids would be a sure thing he imagined in his future. Why would he agree to getting a kid with Sanji, when he was a murderer with the paternal instincts of a shark? Why? This wasn't him, at least not the him that he knew himself to be. He thought back to that ridiculous fortune that implied he was in an alternate universe, and that there was another Zoro out there, somewhere in his place. A Zoro who would be happy to be a father, a Zoro who could handle daycare and nightmares and crying. But that Zoro wasn't here right now, and that was the Zoro that this Sanji needed.

The front door opened - what horrible timing. Zoro sat at the counter, his head in his hands, not even acknowledging the cook. He heard Sanji set down a few things on the counter and began preheating the oven. He smelt the smoke and heard the click as the man lit a cigarette.

"It was a busy night tonight," Sanji started, opening the fridge. "I had to escape from there, left Camille in charge. I just couldn't stand another bratty customer."

Zoro made no sounds. How had he ever thought he could do this marriage thing?

"Want a beer?" the cook offered, setting one down next to Zoro's head.

"Kids," Zoro responded, aware that it made no sense.

Sanji paused and turned around. "What?"

"Kids. We wanted kids."

"Um..." Sanji placed down the frying pan and turned off the stove. "What - I mean - where did that come from?"

"Nami told me." Zoro's voice was flat, apathetic. "So don't lie."

"I wasn't going to," the cook replied, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Yes, we wanted kids. Well, kid. Not yet, in a couple of years. We just...considered it." He sighed. "I assumed you were having second thoughts, what with saving up money in secret and things like that."

"Maybe the other Zoro could give you kids," the swordsman said.

"Other Zoro?" Sanji looked confused for a second, and then he processed it. "You still believe in that alternate universe crap? I know my husband, alright, shitty marimo, and you are the only Zoro there is."

"No, shit cook. I'm Roronoa Zoro, ex-pirate hunter, one hundred twenty million bounty. I'm a murderer and a pirate. I can take being married...if it's to you...but kids? I don't do kids. I'll never do kids." It was harsh, it was brutal, but it was true, and he wasn't about to waver on this. The cook couldn't change his mind with sweet words or beating it out of him or even fucking it out of him. Nonetheless, the swordsman was brutally aware that he was breaking Sanj's heart, and it would be cowardly to not look him in the eyes as he did so.

But he didn't expect meeting the man's eyes to hurt so much. His feelings for Sanji had not changed - he loved the man, needed the man, wanted Sanji to be happy. He wanted to hold him now, in bed every night, and one day when the cook found the All Blue. And right now Sanji's face was the opposite of how it was when he discussed that magical ocean. Instead of a smile, there was a flat line. Instead of bright eyes, his eyes were cold and dead and lifeless. He was not hopeful or happy or passionate, but rather listless and lost, like a starving child stranded at sea.

"It's okay," the cook murmured, his voice as dead as he looked. "I figured as much. It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does," Zoro spat back. "Look at you! It's killing you! You want to be a father that badly, don't you?" He dug his nails into the black jeans he was wearing that day, bunching up the denim. "You should be with a woman. A woman can do this for you."

"No!" Sanji insisted, and a spark of life finally came back into his eyes. "No, I don't care, I don't, I just want you, please..." His voice cracked on the last word. "Please don't leave Zoro, we'll make it work, we always do."

The swordsman reached across the counter and grasped the cook's trembling hand, stilling it in his steady grip. "So this is what's been bothering you the past couple days?" he asked.

The cook nodded solemnly.

"Okay," Zoro sighed. He was at least happy to have figured it out, to have Sanji talking to him again. That, and the touch of the man's skin in his own was enough to calm all the shaking nerves that had been rampaging under his skin a moment ago. "Okay," he repeated. "I'm making no promises, but we'll try to work it out." He rubbed the back of the cook's hand with the pad of his thumb. "But for now," he forced a grin on his face, and it was cocky and biting and devious, "make up sex?"

The swordsman never knew being hit by a frying pan could hurt so badly.

_A/N: Yeah, it's getting messy now, isn't it? Sorry it took me so long to update, but I just had a lot going on - as you all know - and by the way, thank you for your sympathies - and on top of it, this chapter was uber hard for me to write. You see, because kids is such a sensitive issue within couples, and also I'm reminding you guys that NY Zoro is NY Zoro and pirate Zoro is pirate Zoro, and they are the same..but different...get it? No? Oh well._

_Oh and I super like Tashigi, so please don't think I was bashing her here or anything._

_So please read and review, it'll motivate me to keep writing through this very emotionally entangling time. Thank you! _


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece. But I do own a fluffy pink boa, which I think makes me Doflamingo, and in turn, that means I own Trafalgar Law, right? Right?**

"Nami-san!" the cook gasped, looking up at their navigator, who was desperately trying to reign in her obvious shock. The three Straw hat pirates looked at each other for a good stretch of seconds, eyes flitting from person to person, waiting for the next to react. Eventually, Nami removed her hand from her face, and behind it, revealed a sick, twisted, and large grin. The grin she wore when she was thinking about her precious money...Zoro felt his stomach sink.

"Yes!" Nami proclaimed, punching the air with her free hand. She flung her foot up and gave a little kick. "Usopp owes me 5,000 beli!"

"Wh- what?" the cook stuttered. Zoro was still holding his shoulders underneath his hands, and he could feel them shaking. He delicately pulled back and sat down on his knees.

Nami gave an uncomfortable little giggle. "I'm so sorry, Sanji-kun, but I made a bet with Usopp months ago that you were...well...that you were...gay. And I was right! I knew it!" She moved her gaze from the poor, disturbed cook, to Zoro, furrowing her eyebrows. "I just never expected it to be with you, Zoro. But I can't complain."

"You witch..." Zoro growled.

"Oi!" Sanji said, a knee-jerk reaction. "Don't talk to a lady like that!" But after these words left his mouth, the shock settled back in, and he looked desperately at Nami, as though the woman held his life in her hands. "But Nami-san, it's not what it looks like...I was born to love the ladies! I'm not...I'm not..."

His visible eye twitched about helplessly, looking for some way to explain the situation for anything else than what it was, but his mind was drawing a blank. The two men had been clasped in a passionate embrace on the floor, sharing spit, and there were no two ways about it. He looked at Zoro, futilely hoping the man would support his argument, but the swordsman was not the lying type, and he definitely wasn't about to lie about something he felt so strongly about. He just looked at Sanji and shook his head very lightly, understanding what the cook was trying to ask of him.

"Sanji isn't gay," Zoro said, looking up at Nami. The navigator looked down at him, raising an eyebrow, as if to say, _really, and Luffy doesn't like meat_. But the swordsman wasn't done, and he continued, "But I'm an exception to that rule, as crazy as that sounds." He pressed his hands into his thighs and pushed himself to his feet. "No matter what, though," he pointed an accusing fingers at Nami. "It is none of your business."

Nami shrugged. "Fair enough," she said. "But I'm still telling Usopp and getting my money."

"Oh, Nami-san..." Sanji whined. "Please don't..."

The navigator fixed the cook with a pitying gaze. "Sanji-kun, it's my beli. You wouldn't want to keep me from my money, would you?"

"No..." he admitted, his voice still weak and unsure.

"Besides," Nami added, "it's not like I mind. I think it's..." she searched for the proper word. "Cute!"

Zoro cringed. He hated it when women referred to him and Sanji like that, but it was something they got often, especially at the damn Japanese restaurant they liked to frequent. The waitresses and hostesses there thought they were the most adorable thing since Hello Kitty. He disagreed adamantly.

Sanji, of course, had a completely different reaction. He perked up noticeably. "Cute?" he echoed. "You think I'm cute, Nami-san?"

Nami smiled endearingly. "Of course, Sanji-kun! Girls love boys who aren't afraid to love each other!" She smirked, and muttered under her breath, "for some reasons not so cute as others..."

The cook was wilting with indecision. He pushed himself to his feet, and swayed unsteadily for a moment. "You want me to...be with Zoro?" he asked uncertainly.

"Well," Nami said, "If it makes you happy. Does he make you happy?"

Sanji looked up at the swordsman, who was standing there with his arms crossed, well aware that he was being scrutinized by a discerning blue eye. He shifted awkwardly, letting his arms fall to his side, not meeting the cook's gaze. Tentatively, the man's skilled hands reached forward and lightly touched Zoro's shoulder, and then pulled back quickly, as though he had been burned. Patience wasn't the swordsman's virtue, though, so his own hand shot out and grabbed Sanji's in a vice-like grip, and he finally met the cook's confused eyes.

"You don't have to answer the w - Nami's question," he said. "It's none of her business."

"B -" the cook started, and Zoro knew he was going to whine, _but it's Nami-swan_, and he stopped it with a squeeze of his fingers.

"Shut up," he growled. "I'll be around when you're ready. I'm not going anywhere." And with that, Zoro released Sanji's hand, tried to fix the navigator with his deadliest glare, which she failed to quail under, and left the room swiftly, leaving Nami and Sanji to their own devices. He marched straight to the galley, cut upon the locked box the booze was in, and ripped the cork from the bottle with his teeth. The swordsman drank half the liquor in a series of gulps, and then crashed down at the table, face against the wood, bottle still clutched in his hand.

Back in New York, a life that Zoro was beginning to doubt was real, Sanji was against anybody finding out about their relationship, which at the time was labeled as purely sexual by the cook. But bit by bit, their friends started putting the pieces together. Regardless, when Nami found them, in quite a similar situation as this time, kissing and groping in the coat room at some function of Robin's, the woman had reacted similarly. She had won money, but back then it had been on Zoro's sexuality... The outcome that Zoro hadn't favored was how decisive the cook was for _weeks_ that their relationship needed to stop, and that it was affecting his image, his reputation, and that it just wasn't right for him. Worst of all, the cook had tried to be sympathetic about it, almost pitying, as though the entire thing was just a mistake on his part.

Of course, Nami had been supportive. Zoro may hate that witch's money-grubbing ways, but she was not, in her heart, a bad person, and she was not closed minded to different sexualities. Yet at that time, it hadn't been Nami who changed the cook's mind about cutting the swordsman out of his life..._who had it been_? Zoro struggled to remember, hoping they could speed through this process the same way as before, but he was drawing a blank.

He raised his head just high enough to take another swig of the burning liquid, and then slammed it back on the table in frustration, splattering some on to his hand. All the pieces of his former life were here, but everything seemed wrong and out of place. Desperately, he missed home. He wished Usopp was with Kaya again, he wished Ace and Sabo and Luffy were again the inseparable trio, and he wanted his husband.

Sanji, Sanji Roronoa. And he had been working so hard to save up enough money so that when the time came, after he was the greatest swordsman in the world, they could settle down and perhaps...start a family. He just knew that Sanji would be a magnificent father, and just because two men had fallen in love with each other, Zoro didn't believe they should have to miss out on the joys of raising a child.

He laughed to himself joylessly, recalling how against the idea he had been at the start, although he had even been the one to suggest it, but was horrified when Sanji began to take it seriously. Zoro was an assassin, a killer with an awful history, and neither Sanji nor him had great examples of parents to base their models after. But after working at the dojo with the children, and after feeling the overwhelming sweet, protective love that came from caring for somebody young in spirit, like Chopper, the swordsman had come to the realization that perhaps even a killer can still, in a way, grow life.

And after all, what a wonderful legacy it is to leave behind, in spite of the magnificent restaurant that Sanji had started, in spite of all the awards for swordsmanship he had won and in spite of all the evil he had ended with his blades - there was something far greater, far more poignant and meaningful, in the raising of a child.

But now the swordsman was on a pirate ship, living in a hectic life, and the man he loved, who may not even love him back, if ever, the way he remembered, likewise had his life and body threatened by ravenous, cruel slave traders. There may be a wonderful ship and super powers and rare, unseen sights, but this was not the stuff of dreams. This was the makings of a nightmare.

And as Zoro fell asleep with his head on the table, drooling from his mouth in half-drunkenness, he wished, however childish that it was, that he would wake up soon.

ZOSAN

Meanwhile, while the swordsman of the Thousand Sunny was downstairs drinking himself into slumber, the cook and the navigator were sitting, side by side on the bathroom floor, in a stony silence. After Zoro had left, Sanji had fallen down to sit, legs shaking, and Nami had sat beside him, occasionally tapping her foot against his in a sign of comfort.

"I'm sorry I interrupted," she said, breaking the quiet. "I didn't know...and I had no idea it would upset you this much."

"I'm not upset, Nami-san," Sanji said, the falsity in his voice nearly grating to the ears.

"Stop lying, Sanji," Nami said. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. "I know we have a weird relationship, because you..."

"Because you're beautiful?" Sanji suggested, smiling down at her lightly. There were no hearts in his eyes, though. It was just an honest compliment.

"Well, yeah, sure, let's go with that," the navigator agreed. "But no matter what, we're nakama, and you can talk to me, you know. Especially since I don't think the boys would be too helpful, and Robin is sort of...tight-lipped."

Sanji hummed in agreement.

"What I'm trying to say is..." she squirming on the ground, a bit uncomfortable. Sanji realized that as she pressed into his body, while it felt nice, he had no desire to think any lewd thoughts or swoon over it. It was just the kind warmth of a friend, and nothing more. "I'm trying to say that you need to stop worrying about what other people think or what other people want. I know it's in your nature, but Sanji...what do you want?"

_What do I want?_ Sanji's immediate answer in his head was _I have no fucking clue_. But he figured if it was Nami's suggestion, it was probably worth giving it a shot, as she was an intuitive and smart young woman. He thought back to the moments Zoro and him have had together, not just recently, but in the past. Sanji thought about Zoro's drive, and how kind and gentle the man was with Chopper and, even at some times, Luffy. He thought of the man's honor, audacity, and bravery. He recalled Thriller Bark, where Zoro went to sacrifice himself for the crew, and he thought of his fight with Mihawk, and the confusion and horror Sanji felt at watching such a strong man that he barely knew fall, covered in his own blood. He thought of how well they fought together in harmony, and how they'd share a relationship of competition, always keeping the other on their toes, because it was fun, and challenging, and somehow...bonding, perhaps? Sanji recalled recent moments, when Zoro helped him cook, and when Zoro bought him that suit, paying attention to such little details. And he thought of that wonderful, tasteful, passionate and yet gentle kiss. The kiss that he remember through a haze of drunkenness, and yet it made Sanji feel like he was the only thing in the world that was precious, and that finally, for the first time in a long time, somebody was saying _I'll take care of you, this time. _

"I don't know what I want," Sanji concluded aloud. "But Zoro may be everything I could ever need." Strong, sure, sexy Zoro, who for some odd and inexplainable reason, cared for Sanji in return. His home, his land ahoy - had he really said that the other night? It seemed like a century ago.

Nami pushed her shoulder into Sanji's, playfully shoving him. "Then stop beating around the bush," she teased. "I thought you were the love cook. Go and get him, right?"

"But Nami..." Sanji whined, biting his lip in a pout.

"But what?" she countered. "Is this about the woman-man thing? Because I assure you nobody on the ship cares, and you shouldn't either. I'd like to think that sometimes you fall in love with a person, not a gender. Besides," she smirked. "I know you still love me, right Sanji-kun?"

He smiled brilliantly, and pressed a kiss into the hair on the side of her head, which she allowed him to, for once. "Of course," he promised. "I will always love the ladies, and most of all, you, Nami-swan."

She chuckled, and in that moment, Sanji was able to see her for who she really was, when she wasn't ordering the crew around or snatching at money - which were parts who she was, also. But here, she was kind and smart and a fierce friend, and Sanji knew that he was lucky to have her in his life the way she was, as nakama, and nothing more. Even if she really did have a body built like a goddess...

"Sanji, your nose is bleeding."

"Shit." He wiped at his nose and respectively drew back from Nami's warm side.

"Don't worry about it," she smirked, knowingly. "Just do me a favor, and let me take my bath, and go find the dumbass swordsman. Because, judging by the look on his face when he left, he's probably halfway down a bottle of rum."

Sanji stood up and shook his head. "Very well, but there's no way he'd get the rum. I locked it up in a steel box, because I was mad at him."

"Steel?" Nami echoed. "You kept booze from Zoro by putting it in a _steel box_?"

Sanji looked at Nami for a long moment, wondering why she appeared so skeptical, and reached out with his hand, gently helping her up as the gentleman he was. Meanwhile, he was running the words through his head. What was wrong with hiding booze in a steel box? It wasn't like the alcohol was prone to break outs, was it? And then he pursed his lips and immediately scampered out the door.

Shit! Steel! What the hell was he thinking? This was Roronoa Zoro!

When Sanji got downstairs, he saw Zoro, his head on the table, bottle mainly empty beside him, and his steel box of liquor completely obliterated with a blade. His first and foremost reaction was to drive the sole of his shoe into the back of Zoro's head and send him through the table, splinters and all. But not only would that damage the table, but that wasn't the message he was trying to get through the marimo head at all.

So he removed the bottle and put the cork back in it, placing it on the counter, before straddling the bench next to Zoro. He surveyed his sleeping face calmly, which he saw daily but never really looked at before - he noticed Zoro's sharp eyebrows had relaxed, the clenched jaw loosened, and he looked ages younger than he often appeared. For a moment, the cook considered _what would I do if he were a woman_? But he was able to brush that thought off quickly, and he was glad for it; because Zoro was not a woman, he was a man, and not because of that, but within that, he was the Zoro that Sanji...needed.

Besides, he could never touch a woman sexually like he had with Zoro before, because the feelings that came upon him when such circumstances began overrode him with guilt and nightmares. With Zoro, they were all dissipated. He was free to be as sexual and strong and demanding as he wanted, and never have the worry of disrespecting his partner, or the memory of his late mother.

It was with the thought that yes, Zoro was a man, but yes, I needed him, and maybe in _this _way, that the cook was able to scoot closer, until his long legs were on either side of the swordsman's frame. He glanced quickly at the door, assured nobody was coming in, and raised his inner leg and laid it across Zoro's lap. Then he lowered his head on to Zoro's resting shoulders, and closed his eyes.

Sanji could feel Zoro's heart beat, resounding through the man's flesh and muscle and settling down in the marrow of the cook's bones. Although he'd never admit it, in that moment he couldn't help but lower his chin and lightly nuzzle the swordsman's back, rubbing the edge of his wiry cheek along the man's bare shoulder blades, simply rolling in pleasure from the deep warmth that emitted from the bronzed skin. There was something about Zoro's body heat, something that reached it tendrils not just into the cook's skin, but deep into his soul.

"Zoro..." he murmured, lips dabbing on the man's bare skin of his shoulder as he spoke. "I don't know why...but I need you. I need you, you shitty marimo. So I'll give it a try, if you let me. Just be here for me, okay, bastard?" He paused, and then accented his words with the lightest kiss on Zoro's temple. "Please?"

What the cook didn't know was that Zoro had been awake from the moment Sanji wrapped his legs around his body. After all, he was only dozing, and while he was accustomed to the other man's touch, he still came above the surface of unconsciousness due to the unfamiliar environment, and then stayed there, eyes closed and silent, waiting to see how Sanji's actions would pan out. After listening to Sanji's words, he felt satisfied, if not a bit entitled to gloating. He raised a thick, strong hand a laid it atop the back of Sanji's head, pressing the man's face into his skin.

"Mff!" Sanji protested. Zoro smirked and pulled back, twisting around swiftly so he faced Sanji, and placing his feet behind the cook, his legs around the blond man's waist just as Sanji's legs were now around his. He chuckled and grabbed Sanji's head again, pulling him into an aggressive embrace, holding the cook against his chest, against his heartbeat, as though he wanted the other man to know it was beating - and perhaps, who it was beating for.

"You know, I still think this is some shitty nightmare -" Zoro mumbled, and Sanji could hear and feel the vibrations of the swordsman's voice in his chest. "But if you're here, if I have you - I think I can do it. I think I can manage any hell with you, _shit cook_."

"When did I say you had my permission to smother me, marimo bastard?" Sanji spat, still crushed up agains the pectoral muscles of the swordsman's scarred chest. At these words, Zoro laughed, but let Sanji go, reluctantly. Sanji fell back and gathered his hands in his own lap, staring at them avidly.

"Can't believe you heard what I said," the cook grumbled, a petulant child.

"Can't believe you said _please_, Mr. Desperate," Zoro teased back, lightly punching the blonde's shoulder to let him know that he was kidding. "I didn't expect you to come around so soon...in New York, it took Sanji weeks to talk to me again after Nami caught us."

Sanji scoffed and stretched out his leg so he could reach into his pockets and free his cigarettes, which he picked one out and lit it up. "I can't believe I had to do that in both universes, or whatever," he complained. "But I guess I'm a bit smarter than this New York version of me," he added, tapping his temple wryly.

Zoro shook his head, chuckling. "No, I don't think so...but I do think that because you are a pirate, you may be a little bit different. Just a little."

Sanji raised a curly eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, maybe you made your decision so fast because as a pirate, you have no choice but to live every day like it's your last."

Sanji looked at Zoro, thinking on this deeply for a moment, and then nodded. "I guess." He took a drag of his cigarette, and wriggled his feet into the small of Zoro's back, indicating what he was going to say next, which was, "But with those slave traders on my back, perhaps I'm just being cautious."

Zoro frowned. "Huh?" he grunted.

The cook sighed, saying "You're hopeless. I'm saying maybe I'm seizing my opportunity, so that way that, just in case things don't work out, I don't loose my virginity to some shitty Celestial Dragon."

It took the swordsman a second to process this, but once he did, he placed his hands on Sanji's thin shoulders and threw his head back in laughter. "Oh, fuck," he said, tears dripping from his eyes, as the cook smiled and laughed lightly along with him. "I really hope that's not true, but that's shrewd logic, there, shit cook."

Sanji shrugged, and the swordsman felt his shoulders lift underneath his hands. "I still..." he coughed lightly, pulling the filter of the cigarette out of his mouth for a moment, and then smoked again, looking down at his hands wringing on his lap. "You still look fucking great when you laugh like that...um...asshole." He paused, and took his smoke and put it out in the ashtray on the table, extinguishing each last burning ash. "The Zoro I knew didn't laugh like that," he added.

The swordsman pulled his hands back from Sanji's shoulders, and touched the side of his face subconsciously with the right one, feeling his cheek that was still sore from smiling so hard. "Perhaps he had nothing to laugh about like that," he finished. "I never used to laugh so openly when I was young, either. It wasn't until I met you."

"But Zoro knows me."

The swordsman grunted, frustrated. "I know, but I meant...it wasn't until I knew I had a thing for you or whatever." He coughed to the side, composing himself. He had wanted to say, _it wasn't until I knew I loved you_, but he didn't want to scare the cook away, especially sitting casually with their legs intertwined like this, his face within reach and his lips within a kiss's distance.

"So..I make you happy?" the cook asked.

Zoro nodded.

"Happier than booze?"

"Don't push it," the swordsman teased.

"So...will you?" Sanji asked.

Zoro reckoned that he was referring back to their earlier conversation, which he quickly ran through in his mind. "You mean take your virginity? Sure thing, but I wouldn't worry about the slave traders getting you, I'd never let that happen and neither would the rest of the crew."

A sharp kick from Sanji's twisted leg dug into the small of Zoro's back and he buckled forward. "No!" he barked. "I meant will you, you know, be patient? And be there? Because I don't know how I...I _feel_ right now, or whatever - and shit!" He dug his nails deep into his scalp, pulling his hair. "How do you do all this feeling-talk-shit without wanting to rip your throat out while your talking?"

The swordsman shrugged. "You were always better at it than me. I still suck. Sometimes I do rip your throat out when you are talking about your feelings. But that's because I want you to shut up and make up with me already."

"I always knew you were a mannerless pig," the cook grumbled.

An affirmative grunt was his only response from the swordsman.

But the cook didn't need any other words, or any other discussion or feelings or pleas or vows or promises. Neither of them needed rings or proposals or poetry. In that moment, it was like the electricity in the room had finally aligned, and both of them felt their magnets change polarity, and suddenly, instead of being repelled, they were being drawn to one another at a frighteningly fast speed. The cook's face was upturned, and Zoro was looking down, and although they studied each other's faces and eyes, there was no calculating or judging of reactions. They knew what they were about to do, and they knew what they needed from each other.

Thus, Zoro's lips touched Sanji's, a sweet softness against softness, stilling all words and useless blather and insults and even the unlikely-to-be-spoken sweet nothing that may have slipped out. And at the same time, not even a half a second off, did Sanji likewise press his lips to Zoro's, meeting the green-haired man in the middle. Both leaned toward their rights and they allowed their lips to move against each other, pulling back, and dipping back in, finding that the taste of the other's mouth and lips was like water to the soul - necessary for life all of the sudden, and no longer just a pleasantry.

The swordsman's arms wrapped around Sanji's frame, and the cook held around Zoro's waist. They both pulled the other man in their hands into their own bodies, pressing themselves against each other - Sanji's hands moved up, Zoro's hands moved down. The two pirates hard muscles, Zoro's bare chest against Sanji's clothed one, touched, and the cook's heart pounding into the swordsman's chest, and the swordsman's pounded into the cook's, and for a second, it felt as though they were beating in time. For a second, Sanji felt like a wave crashing against the shores of Zoro's soul, and today, maybe not always, but today Zoro's beach was warm and inviting and the only place that Sanji wanted to be.

But the outside world had different ideas, and from the deck of the ship, they heard Franky shout, "Oi, Zoro! Zoro! Swordsman-bro! Anchors up, my man!"

The cook and the swordsman pulled away from each other and exchanged looks. "Anchors up? We're leaving?" Zoro asked.

Sanji shrugged. "I think the log is set."

Zoro pulled his legs from around Sanji's body, and the cook pulled back as well. "But what about the slave traders?"

"What about them?" Sanji asked.

"Well, wouldn't it be easier to wait here for them and fight on land?"

"Psh," Sanji waved and disdainful hand at Zoro. "We're _pirates_, baka! We don't wait for anybody, and when they come, I'll kick their ass, that's it!"

Zoro had been making his way to the door, but now he turned around. "You'll kick their ass?" he echoed. "I think you mean _me_, shit cook!"

The cook in question poked a finger into the middle of the swordsman's forehead, right between his eyes, which caused Zoro to pull back in alarm and anger. "No, I meant I'll kick all their asses while you sleep like the drunk brute that you are!"

The swordsman unsheathed an inch or two of one of the katanas, and said, "You wanna prove who'd win that battle right now, curly brow?"

"Why not, moss head?"

And then, from outside the galley, there was another call, this time Luffy, saying, "Zoooroooo! Stop sleeping and lift the anchor, Franky won't let me touch it!"

The swordsman scowled. He already had a headache, and he supposed that some things, no matter what universe or circumstances, never really change.

_A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update (as compared to my usual rate!) My life is full of lots of changes right now, and I know that's a stupid excuse and nobody wants to hear it, they just want their FICTION and their SMUT, DAMNIT, but that's the gospel truth...so there._

_And sorry for the lack of smut in the past few chapters, but things are heating up now...only a bit until the showdown, as they say, and then everything, for better or for worse, follows after!_

_So please read and review and please please motivate me! I hope I made you smile so make me smile! =] =] =] _


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. Oda owns One Piece. One Piece is in Raftel. Oda lives in Japan. Japan is Raftel?**

Zoro was drifting off to sleep that night, Sanji and him still on opposite sides of the bed. He knew that Sanji wouldn't allow him to go anywhere, but the gap between them was still not closed. They had shared a couple of kisses, but they were loose and meaningless, and it didn't go much father than that. In the darkness of the room, he heard more than saw the cook roll over and face him.

"Zoro," he whispered, "You still awake?" The swordsman smirked - he had sounded like a scared child, one afraid of monsters under the bed or some such nonsense.

"Yeah," Zoro grunted.

"About the kid thing -" The swordsman squeezed his eyes shut; he should have known the topic was going to brought up again soon. "There's sort of something I should tell you."

"What's that?" his voice was flat, and didn't give anything away.

"We sort of scheduled an appointment for tomorrow with uh...an adoption agency. It's just a pre-adoption information meeting. I know you aren't interested, but I'd be sort of rude to cancel now...I..."

Zoro reached out and placed a hand on Sanji's side, cupping his waist. He rubbed up and down the man's back, trying to show the gentle side he rarely revealed. "Sanji," he said quietly, cutting the other man off. "It's just an information session. I'll go, if you want. Besides, the other Zoro wants this. I wouldn't want to take this away from him."

Sanji let loose a sound that was more akin to a dry sob than a laugh. "The other Zoro again?" he said weakly. "God, things are so fucked up, I don't even know what's going on - I'm glad we're not -" he stopped himself.

"Glad we're not bringing a child into this, right?" Zoro finished for him. "That's what you were going to say."

"No!" the cook insisted. "It's just..."

"It's okay," Zoro consoled. "I agree with you. We have a bit of a mess on our hands, between these human traffickers and then working out what's going on between us." He pulled the cook's lithe form toward him, feeling the rustle of the sheets as Sanji relented and fell into his embrace. "But it's not the end all," he assured his partner. "We're still young, and we have plenty of time. If something changes our minds, then we'll let it."

Sanji face turned up, and Zoro could see it barely illuminated. His eyes were full of hope, and it corroded the swordsman's insides to see. "You think you could change your mind?" he asked, as if too afraid to dare to hope.

Without shooting him down, Zoro considered. He thought of the children in the dojo, and how they had very easily opened up another side of him, for the innocence of children can often sway even the most hardened man. He thought that perhaps if he belonged to another life, a safer life, that he would not mind having a daughter or son, training them in the ways of the sword, with Sanji teaching them how to cook, and just trying to raise them to be a better human being than he could have been...

"Maybe," he conceded. "But right now, Sanji, can we just concentrate on us?" He grinned and hugged the blond to his chest. "I'm not willing to share you yet. In my mind, I just got you, okay?"

"Okay," Sanji said, and Zoro could feel his mouth stretch in a smile against the bare skin of his chest. "There's something I want to do before...any of that...anyway."

"What's that?" Zoro asked.

"It's stupid," the cook said dismissively, all of the sudden shy. Zoro gritted his teeth - could the man have any less confidence?

"I don't care," he muttered into Sanji's hair. "Don't bring it up and then not tell me, you fucking tease cook."

"Fine." The cook pulled back and fumbled on the nightstand in the darkness, eventually freeing a cigarette and lighting it in the darkness. The red tip glowed faintly, showing the man's face...and Zoro watched, entranced, as the man's eyes lit up with childlike glee, bespeaking of the latent dream that was about to be revealed. "I was just thinking of how profits have been so good at the All Blue, and you know how I always bitch about those prissy customers we get who waste so much food?"

"I never had patience for rich snobs," Zoro agreed.

"Well, I'm not closing the place, even if they can't appreciate some damn fine cooking, if I might say so myself." He puffed, pensively. "But I was thinking of maybe doing another joint, you know, where people would appreciate it."

"Another restaurant?"

"Nah, more like..." he chewed on the filter for a moment, trying to find the words. "A soup kitchen, you know? But not some shitty place where they dish it from aluminum catering pans and crock pots. Like some nice, quality meals for people who couldn't afford them otherwise."

Feeding the poor and needy? Zoro was grinning widely now, but the cook wasn't meeting his eyes, so he didn't see it. It was exactly the sort of thing that Sanji would want, a place to feed those who were hungry. In fact, it seemed like it was that man's mission in life. If there were anything he would want the cook to do, any dream he would want the man to achieve, this would be it. This could be one thing that the swordsman could help him with, despite it's deep-rooted nature in charity. It was just so perfectly Sanji, it fit like a puzzle piece into the man's life.

"Yeah, it's stupid," Sanji muttered, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray. "Whatever, marimo, you don't have to say it."

Zoro reached up and ruffled Sanji's blond hair in the dying light of the cinders of the mans' cigarette. "I think it's perfect, shit cook."

Sanji looked at him, eyes wide, biting back a hopeful laugh. "You do?" he asked.

"In fact," Zoro said, and he gripped the back of Sanji neck and pulled him into a head lock, pressing his fist into the man's temple as he wriggled and squirmed. "I'll kill you if you don't do it!"

"Shitty swordsman!" Sanji growled, and he flung up his leg to take Zoro out, which failed, but it forced the man to release him. "You couldn't kill me if you tried."

"I could cut your throat in your sleep!" Zoro threatened, dangerous eyes gleaming.

"Well, I could poison your food!" Sanji shot back, in equal measure. But both of the men were laughing, because not only would they never follow through on their actions, but they knew each other too well: even if it was their worst enemy, the threats suggested were too base, too low for these two men of honor to carry out. They laughed and wrestled and exchanged a couple blows that may have been too harsh for anybody else to bear with a straight face, and then they eventually wound up falling asleep, body parts strewn over each other, waiting for the morning light.

ZOSAN

It was the next day, and Zoro was sitting in an the most uncomfortable armchair he ever had the misfortune to sit in during his lifetime. The inner frame dug into all the wrong parts of his flesh, and the weak cushioning did nothing for him whatsoever. He shuffled about in it for a moment, before beginning to feel foolish, and then he just sat back and crossed one foot over his opposite knee.

Across from him, behind a desk, was an exuberant middle-aged woman, who was pushing more paperwork into Sanji's hands, as he asked a thousand questions Zoro wouldn't even think to ask. Zoro fiddled with his tie during most of the conversation - a tie that Sanji had to put on him an hour earlier.

"_When are you going to learn to tie your own tie, Zoro?" the cook had asked, exasperated._

_Zoro leaned in a stole a kiss, murmuring, "Maybe never, as long as I keep you around."_

But now their little private moments were gone, and he had to deal with this entire adoption mess. It made him feel like wincing whenever the woman's eyes would settle upon him, because despite his clean-cut outfit that Sanji had stuffed him into, along with a ridiculous set of reading glasses that Zoro hardly needed, seeing as he wasn't that good at reading... Zoro was aware that he still probably looked like some sort of thug, with his three gold earrings and green hair. He had never let his appearance bother him before, but all of the sudden, because this appointment was important to Sanji, and thus this woman's opinion, his appearance seemed to be a pivotal point.

"Mr. Roronoa, your husband was just telling me about how you've started teaching classes at the D dojo down in Queens. My nephew goes there, funnily enough! He is always raving about Monkey Sensei and all that he learns there."

Zoro looked up, aware that the woman was addressing him. "Oh, um, yes. Luffy is great with the kids, he's basically one of them."

The woman gave a full, friendly laugh, and leaned forward, clasping her hands. Zoro realized that Sanji was looking at him expectantly, probably because he'd been silent most of the conversation, and now the female was about to pick him out on it. Shit.

"And I hear that you were raised in Japan! I've never been, but I've heard such wonderful things about the country."

The swordsman wanted to say, _That makes two of us_, but he surely couldn't say he'd never been to a place that he was apparently brought up in, so he quickly tore through his most recent memories, desperate for something to say, but drew up blank. "Yeah," he agreed flatly. "I grew up there."

The woman frowned, just ever so slightly. "Sanji and I were just discussing, also, the social hardships that couples like yourself face when trying to adopt a child."

"Hardships?" Zoro asked.

"You know, the child may have difficulty explaining it to friends at school, and you may be judged by the parental community of your child's peers. It's going to be a rough road, and I was wondering if you were prepared to deal with these prejudices."

"Because we're men?" Zoro pushed, finally starting to see the point. The woman nodded, which caused the swordsman to scowl. "Well, I'd kill anyone who talked badly to Sanji or any child we would have together."

The woman gave a nervous laugh, and out of the corner of his eye, Zoro saw Sanji slapping his forehead with the bottom of his palm. "That's a...protective thing to say, Mr. Roronoa, but I'm sure we both know violence isn't the answer," the woman suggested.

Zoro's hand itched toward where his swords would usually lay on his hip, but of course, they weren't there. He gritted his teeth, trying to reign in his temper, because this woman's unnatural smile and high cheekbones were beginning to grate on his nerves in the worst way. "No, violence isn't the answer," he echoed back to her, through grounded teeth. Sanji seemed to deflate in relief when the swordsman said these words.

The cook reached over and placed a hand on Zoro's knee. "Forgive my husband, it's been a long week for the two of us." He flashed the woman his most winning smile. "And thank you so much for your time, Madam. I heard there was a social hour after the personal meetings. Would you mind telling me where that would be?" He patted Zoro's knee, as if he were a growling dog to keep at bay. "I would love to discuss prospects with the other parents-to-be," the cook gushed.

The woman fell under the blond's easy charm, and directed them down the hall and to the left, where they would find refreshments and some snacks, as well as all the other couples or single members of society who had come to this ridiculous information-seeking session. The cook gathered up the piles of paperwork and fliers and brochures the woman had given the and thrust them into Zoro's arms.

"Carry these," he said gruffly, and then pulled Zoro from the room, giving the woman his most sincere thanks and over-warm goodbyes.

As he tugged the swordsman down the hall, he paused for a moment, and pressed a quick kiss to Zoro's lips. "You did wonderful," he said, honesty ringing in his voice. "Thank you so much for this, it's almost over."

With that kiss, all of the frustration Zoro was bottling seemed to fade. He bent down and laid a few kisses along Sanji's jaw, and whispered to him, "Well, you'll have to make it up to me tonight, cook."

Sanji blushed furiously, which caused the swordsman to have the most unwelcome reaction in his groin, where his pants drew just a bit too tight over his front. He withdrew his lips from the cook's smooth skin before he ravaged him in the hallway. "Let's go," he insisted. "I want to get this over with."

And so, hands still clasped, the cook led him down to an open room, where there were quite a few people milling about, most couples, nibbling on muffins and sipping coffee, making small conversation with each other. The first thing Zoro noticed, besides the fact that the muffins were _huge_ and delicious-smelling, were the proliferation of couples who had taken to the corners to quietly and stiffly argue with each other. It seemed as though Zoro and Sanji were not the only two a bit unsure about their foundations.

When some of the people around them noticed the swordsman and the cook, they fell into a hushed silence, their eyes betraying their shock. Quickly, Sanji tried to release Zoro's fingers, but Zoro clamped down and dug in his fingernails for extra effect. "Don't you dare be ashamed of us, cook," he growled.

Sanji gulped, his Adam's apple working double-time on his thin neck. The conversation in the room had started up again. His eyes flitted to the tacky table of refreshments. "Could you get me a coffee, Zoro?" he asked, and his voice sounded all of the sudden like he was parched.

The swordsman was about to tell him that he could very well get a coffee for himself, but then he saw the desperate look in Sanji's eyes, and nodded quietly, releasing the man's hand and making his way to the table, pouring some lukewarm sludge into a paper cup. The cook wasn't going to be happy about the quality.

He frowned to himself before adding two sugars and some milk...and then some more milk, because it didn't look quite right. The woman beside him sniffed impatiently and snatched the creamer from the table, muttered a curse to herself that sounded something like, _lying bastard_. Zoro scooted away from her as quickly as possible, terrified she would start up conversation, and searched the thin crowd for Sanji, eventually seeing him chatting with a young couple that couldn't be much older than themselves.

The swordsman walked over and handed the cook his coffee. "Thank you," he said softly, and then took a sip, scowled, and spit the coffee back up into the cup.

"That's disgusting," Zoro commented. "What did you expect, anyway?"

Sanji glowered at the cup and at his husband, before braving another sip, this one that he swallowed. "It tastes like mud mixed with milk," he observed disdainfully. Zoro shrugged - the cook was probably right, it certainly seemed unappetizing.

"I'll be waiting over here," Zoro answered, gesturing to an empty patch of wall. "You socialize all you want."

The cook nodded in understanding, and thus the swordsman dismissed himself, leaned up against the wall in the dim side of the room, hiding under the dark lighting and watching the interactions of the people with discerning eyes. Sanji moved from one group of people to the next, the definition of a social butterfly, occasionally pausing to point at Zoro, where Zoro would stop his musing and lift his head in a nod to whoever the group was that the cook was introducing him to from afar. "My husband, Zoro," he heard Sanji say at one point. "He's the quiet type, don't mind him."

All in all, the entire ordeal wasn't that bad. It was uncomfortable, that was for sure, and it almost made Zoro feel like he was wearing some sort of costume, pretending to be a person he wasn't. But in all honesty, he had imagined that it would be much worse. Maybe it was his demeanor or his appearance, but it seemed like the people in this building were more than happy to leave him well enough alone.

"Roronoa-ya."

Zoro's ears twitched. He glanced around the room swiftly, but absolutely nobody was looking at him. Everyone was immersed in their petty conversations, laughing and chatting and sharing facts from little white print-outs.

"Don't move, Roronoa-ya," the voice repeated, low and quiet and deep. It sounded strong, calm and, most definitely, Zoro's instincts assured him, dangerous. "I just want to talk to you without being overheard, or seen, and this seemed like the best place to do it."

"Who are you?" Zoro demanded. He didn't move from his patch on the wall, but he now figured out that the person speaking to him was on the opposite side of the structure from him, leaning against the wall probably just like he was, arms crossed, defensive and stiff.

"You don't recognize me," the voice pouted over-dramatically. "I'm hurt." The statement was so forced and fake that it spoke of how _unhurt_ the man truly was. He sounded like a spider weaving webs, like a snake in the undergrowth, and Zoro didn't like it at all.

"What do you want," the swordsman growled from between a clenched jaw.

"Just a friendly warning," answered the voice. "Hearsay informed me that you have engaged and are planning to further engage those connected with a certain criminal warlord by the street name of..._Joker_."

"Never heard of him."

The voice scoffed and tutted, and Zoro heard light tapping from the other side of the thin, plaster wall, as though the man were drumming his fingertips. "I don't want to say any names, Roronoa-ya. Come now, you must know who I'm talking about."

"Unless you are talking about Dofla-"

"Shut up!" the voice hissed. "And yes, that's who I meant." He growled deeply. Zoro kept his eyes fixated on Sanji, becoming nervous when somebody edged too close to him, his battle senses telling him that a predator was in the room, and that he must protect himself and his mate.

"I don't know why I bothered," the predator's voice continued, "But I just came here to warn you, acquaintances that we are." He sighed, collecting himself. "I trust in your abilities, Roronoa-ya, but I was once a subordinate of the man you are entangled with at the moment. I know him rather well. My suggestion is to..." he breathed in deeply again. "Run."

Zoro itched to turn to corner and see who this man was, but he stayed put, respectively bunching his fists until his fingernails dug into his palms. "I'm not running from anybody," he insisted. "But thanks for the advice."

The swordsman expected the man, whoever he was, to push and to demand and threaten and share stories, but he just tutted once more. "Well, it can't be said that I didn't try," he said, slightly mournful, although it was clearly another act. "Tell Mugiwara-ya that the doctor said _hello_ for me, would you?"

"Sure, doctor," the swordsman growled.

A low chuckle sounded from the other side of the wall, and it swiftly got quieter, as Zoro sensed the man was pulling away. "Goodbye, swordsman," the voice finished, and Zoro could hear the quiet tapping of shoes as they made their way down the hall and disappeared. It wasn't until he could hear them no longer that Zoro finally relaxed. The voices in the room, which had been previously dimmed due to his heightened sense, rushed back tenfold. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

"Are you okay?" he heard Sanji ask, and he felt the cook place a hand on Zoro's shoulder. "I was going to say that we could leave, if you are ready, but you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Not seen," Zoro said, "Heard."

The swordsman opened his eyes to see the cook giving him a skeptical look, but the man was refraining from mocking Zoro just yet, waiting to see if he had something more to say.

"Just got a warning about the cruise we're taking soon from some _doctor-ya_."

Sanji looked around the room quickly. "Trafalgar? I don't see him. Why would he be here?"

"Trafalgar? Is that his name? So I do know him..."

"Yeah," Sanji said, gripping Zoro's shoulder tightly and steering him from the room, avoiding everybody's curious gaze. "Trafalgar Law, surgeon. Interesting fellow." The cook scowled. "Dangerous fellow...too mysterious for my liking, but Luffy seems to trust him for some unexplainable reason. He always goes and visits him at the hospital." Sanji pursed his lips. "Well, I mean the shitty brat always gets wounded somehow and winds up at the hospital, where he finds Trafalgar, but whatever."

Zoro pulled his shoulder free from the cook's grip and began making his way down the hallway swiftly, turning corners here and there. He wanted to get out of this building as soon as possible. It felt violated and unsteady. If some random man named Trafalgar Law could find him here, then who else could? Zoro wondered absentmindedly if he should have taken Smoker up on his offer for extra protection. Cursing to himself, he eventually found his way to the exit of the building, Sanji tagging behind him - if only he had his swords, he wouldn't feel this nervous, this naked, this exposed. He needed nine to ten feet of sharpened steel on his right hip, and nothing else.

"What did he tell you, marimo, that's got you all in a fit?" Sanji asked, and Zoro heard him clicking his lighter, starting his first smoke now that they were outdoors.

"Just that he used to work for him, and that we should run," Zoro groused. "Nothing unexpected, just stupid warnings." He walked to the car and tossed Sanji the keys, looking in the dark tinted windows first before letting the cook open the door.

Sanji was practically growling at him. "I hate it when you go in assassin mode, you know that?" he spat, sticking the key in the lock and flinging the door open. He flicked the button on the inside and the swordsman's passenger side door unlocked as well. "If you aren't going to listen to him, then why are you so worked up?"

Zoro climbed in the vehicle and shut the door, glancing behind them into the backseat for just a moment, before gesturing to the cook to drive. "Because if he could find us here, then anybody could. I've forgotten we aren't safe." As they pulled from the parking lot of the place, Zoro could feel his body tense even more as they entered the roadway. Lights, blaring horns, people running back and forth across the streets - it was chaos, and such madness was perfect for an assassin to easily take one of them out. "I've let my guard down," he berated himself. "Just because we aren't being chased by Marines doesn't mean we're safe..."

"We're fine, shitty marimo," Sanji said, and then cursed as somebody cut him off, slamming on the brakes. Zoro's arm flung out and held the cook against his seat.

Sanji growled and swatted his arm away. "Stop that!" he lectured. "Stop going all mother hen on me, you know I hate it! I've taken care of people out for my blood for years, shitty bastard -"

Zoro froze. "What do you mean? Why is somebody out for your blood?"

Although it was a side view, the swordsman could see the cook visibly pale. "Ah, it's nothing, I mean...uh..."

"Are you hiding shit from me _again_, you fucking bastard?" The swordsman slammed his fist on the dashboard in frustration. "What the hell, Sanji! What is it now!"

Sanji grabbed a smoke and lit it up. "Don't hit the dashboard," he ordered. "This car only has 25K miles on it, and I'm not taking it to get work done because you can't hold your shitty temper." He groaned, puffing furiously. "I knew I shouldn't have taken you to that meeting, you were bound to get worked up somehow..."

"I was fine until we were stalked by some bloody doctor and now apparently you're lying to me!"

"Not lying!" Sanji insisted. He flicked some ashes off his cigarette out the window. "Just...uh...not telling the whole truth." He gritted his teeth. "I know you don't get it," he said, pointing his cigarette at Zoro in frustration, "because you tell the truth about everything, it isn't in your nature to lie, but I just..."

"Just what?" Zoro pressed. His voice was hostile and aggressive, and he was enticing the cook into anger as well.

"I just never wanted you to feel guilty!" Sanji yelled. Outside of his cracked window, some pedestrians turned their heads for one moment, before looking away swiftly. The cook tossed his cigarette and pressed a button to roll the window up. "Why did you think Ace and Marco knew what I meant by _take out the trash_? You think that nobody put two and two together before, and found out where you lived? This is just the first time that you knew about it, that's all!" He shook his head furiously, dismissing anything that Zoro was about to interject. "I never wanted to say it, I never wanted you to know, because I knew that if you knew, you'd treat me like I was..." He clenched the steering wheel, knuckles creaking, and bit his bottom lip, trying to keep the words inside, but it snuck out, like a whisper of wind under the crack of a door, as he said, "_weak_."

They had arrived at their building. Sanji pulled the car into their designated spot and turned off the engine. He made no move to get out of the car, and didn't look at Zoro. Instead, he just leaned back in his seat, defeated, spent. Zoro picked up the papers that were laying in his lap and placed them on the dashboard. He leaned back and pushed his glasses out of the way for a moment to rub at his eyes. "Weak," he repeated, it wasn't a question, just an assertion.

"How long are you going to think that, you stupid fucking cook?" His swift, strong, callused hand shot out and grabbed Sanji's chin, turning the man's face toward him, where he met the cook's quivering gaze. "You starved, didn't you? Look, I don't know your bloody story, not even from the life I remember, but you starved, right?" Sanji nodded slowly. "Yeah, and you are still alive. Fucking miracle, I guess you think, but no, I don't think so. And instead of moaning about it, you go and make it your life's mission that _nobody_ has to starve like you did, ever again. You made something out of your suffering. I don't know anybody else who has done that, okay? You think I fell in love with you because you're sexy and you cook good -"

"Well," Sanji choked out.

"Well?"

"It's cook well. Proper grammar."

"Shut the fuck up. Anyway, you think that's why? I mean, come on, Sanji, you and I like to fuck women most of the time, don't we? But I don't want some woman or some other man, because I want _you_, somebody strong, somebody..." Zoro trailed off. His speech had been on a roll, and all of the sudden he couldn't find the right word to summarize it.

Sanji chuckled and removed Zoro's hand from his face, where his fingers left red marks in his skin. "That's the most I've heard you talk at once in a while, shitty swordsman." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, massaging out the marks on his chin, "Usually you let your swords do the talking."

"If I did that this time, then I wouldn't be getting dinner tonight, would I?"

"Nah, I'd still feed you," Sanji relented, and he opened the door and got out the car, Zoro following suit.

"Even if I killed you?" Zoro teased.

Sanji scoffed. "I told you that you can't kill me, but yeah, sure, even if you killed me, I'd still cook for you." He pointed at the swordsman threateningly. "I'm not having any other bastard making you breakfast in the morning after I'm gone, you hear me?"

"Got it," Zoro relented. He yawned as they walked into the lobby and made their way to the elevator. "I'm gonna take a nap before dinner, okay, shitty cook?"

"Yeah, whatever you lazy ass bastard," Sanji retorted, but there was no fire in his words. Zoro belated realized he left all the adoption information papers in the car, but he figured it was nothing to worry about, and followed the cook back to their apartment.

_A/N: I was really trying to get the smut in this chapter, too, but ..er...plot bunnies got in the way. I foresee it in my reader's near future though, and I promise I shall make it worth all the torturous wait! Now please read and review, or don't review, and I'll just never give you smut ever again. BWAHHAHA._

_Just kidding. I like writing smut, so that's not going to happen. _


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece. Or a straw hat. **

Before their first breakfast since taking to sea, Usopp woke up early and crept into the galley. As he walked in, Sanji did not glance up to see him, although he nodded slightly toward the frying pan, acknowledging his existence. Timid as ever, the lanky young man sat down at the table, clasping his hands in the lap, then on top the wood surface, and then again in his lap. He tapped his feet and shuffled his boots against the floor and gave a handful of fake coughs into the crook of his arm.

"What is it you want, Usopp?" Sanji asked, his voice betrayed his already tested patience. "Breakfast isn't going to be ready for another fifteen or so minutes."

"Ah...no...I don't want breakfast." Then he waved his hands in the air. "Well, I do! I do want breakfast, but no, uh...not now!"

"Then what?" the cook snapped.

"Well, you see, Nami and I have been making a grand number of bets lately, and since the start I've won over three hundred million beli! But...um...gunpowder is expensive. So I may be a little low on funds. And Nami told me last night that I lost a bet and owed her 5,000 beli, but the only bet we made like that was...um..."

Sanji sighed and placed the frying pan on the burner and lowered the temperate until it was just smoldering blue licks at the bottom of the pan. He leaned down and lit his cigarette from the stove top and then turned to face Usopp, willing composure into his bones. "You are coming to _me_," Sanji began, "for _me_ to say that a bet you made with Nami-san is untrue, for _me _to say that Nami-san had lied so that Nami-san will not get her money...Usopp...is this what you are coming to me for?"

The man gulped. "Well, yeah, but Sanji, it's because the bet was -"

"Pay her, Usopp."

"But the bet -"

"Pay her!"

The sniper groaned and slammed his hands on the table. "See? Clearly she's lying! You still like woman enough to sell me out for Nami!"

Sanji chuckled. "I will always like Nami-san enough to sell you out, Usopp. Didn't I ever tell you that -"

"If Nami lives, you will gladly sacrifice me, I know." He sighed. "But you're sacrificing your womanizing life, here, you realize that? There will be nobody Nami won't tell if you let her run with a lie like that."

The cook turned back to the stove and tossed the pancakes he was cooking, flipping them easily with a flick of his wrist. "What lie, Usopp?"

"That you're gay!" the sniper responded. He laughed again. "I mean, not like I'd mind if that were the truth, but I can tell lies better than that, really!"

Sanji smiled and dished out perfectly browned pancakes on to a large plate, some with melted chocolate chips and others dotted with blueberries. He leaned forward and looked at their fluffy depth, and leaned back, satisfied. "No, I'm not gay," he answered Usopp, as he showered the sweet breakfast with extra sugar. It landed and spread like the first touching of snow in the winter. The cook licked some extra sweetness of his fingers and hummed to himself absentmindedly. There was a little extra something in his step this morning, and he couldn't place it, but even the most mundane tasks seemed exhilarating.

Meanwhile, Usopp was going on about something. Sanji looked up when he heard the words "making out" come out of the sniper's mouth. "What was that?" he asked, to clarify.

"Oh, Nami had tried to placate me by saying she caught you and Zoro making out," Usopp explained, waving his hand. "Don't tell Zoro I said that, or she said it, for that matter. He'd probably skin us both alive."

"I doubt it," Sanji responded. "Want pulp in your orange juice or no?"

"No thanks," Usopp answered, and then added, "But no, really, don't tell Zoro! I know he wouldn't actually kill us, but I don't take beatings too well!"

"He wouldn't beat you," Sanji muttered. He strained some orange juice into a half-full pitcher, making sure he got every bead out until it was full of delicious and pure liquid, a glimmering and deep topaz in the early morning sunlight that was slipping into the kitchen. "But I won't tell Zoro, don't worry."

"Won't tell me what?" Both the sniper and the cook looked to the door, and found the swordsman framed in it, half-dressed, rubbing his sleep-mussed hair. He yawned and scratched his chest with dull fingernails. Sanji allowed himself to smile fondly for just a moment before forcing a scowl to over take his features.

"What are you doing up, marimo?" he snarled at the swordsman. Zoro shrugged and stumbled across the kitchen to Sanji. The cook froze up, both hands crushing nearly dried out oranges, standing stock still facing the counter. He did not move as Zoro stopped right behind him and reached up into the cabinets, rubbing his bare chest against Sanji's back, fetching a glass from above the blond's hand. He did not move as Zoro grabbed the pitcher of orange juice and slipped both his arms around Sanji to fill up his cup, but when one hand started to slip down from the edge of the cup to the cusp of Sanji's hip...

The cook raised a hand and squirted citrus juice in Zoro left eye. The swordsman cursed and stumbled backward, sloshing the liquid in his drink on to the floor as he did so. "Fuck, cook, that stings," he cursed.

"Don't bother me when I'm in the kitchen," Sanji insisted.

"Fine, fine," the swordsman grumbled. "You don't have to tell me a thousandth time, you prissy twat. So what aren't you going to tell me?"

Usopp chimed in from the table. He had snatched a piece of bacon while Sanji wasn't looking, but had sufficiently hidden the evidence by now in his stomach, so he felt it was safe to talk again. "We weren't going to tell you Captain Usopp-sama's tales of the latest island, where I rescued a damsel in distress from -"

"Sure," Zoro said, plopping down on the bench across from Usopp, on the other side of the table. "But what else?"

"Usopp didn't want to pay Nami-san," Sanji told the swordsman.

Zoro smirked. "I don't ever want to pay her either, we got that in common."

"Oi!" Sanji spat, and Zoro ducked a flying spatula. It hit Usopp square in the long nose. "You low lives will pay Nami-swan back the money she deserves!"

"I'll pay her," Usopp whined. "But she really is cheating me, lying like that." He looked at Zoro, sitting across him, sipping on his orange juice with all the thoughtfulness of a caveman on his face, and figured that maybe, just maybe, it was worth the shot. "You see, if you would tell Nami that you won't tolerate her lies, then I won't have to pay her."

"Why would I care?" Zoro asked, bluntly. "Nami always lies. And it isn't my money."

"Because the lie is about you!" Usopp blurted.

"Oh?" the swordsman swirled his drink, interested. Under the surface, he already knew what the sniper was getting at. He recalled Nami's conversation with Sanji and him the other day, and apparently the woman hadn't kept her mouth shut, just like she promised she wouldn't, and had went about blabbing the whole story to Usopp so she could collect her funds. And now the poor, broke teenager was pushing Zoro and Sanji to stand up to the navigator. Unfortunately for the sniper, his vision was exceptional bad in the affairs of romantic and sexual relationships.

"She said...and I quote, she said this, not me! She said that she caught you and Sanji making out yesterday! In the bath house, no less!" After he had said it, Usopp quailed, as if expected Zoro to backlash out at him, perhaps with his katanas or his fists. Zoro just sat back and took another sip of his orange juice. It was very tart and at the same time, very sweet. He had never tasted such fresh juice before, not even when the cook made it at home. The oranges must be from the trees upstairs, he considered, offhandedly. He nodded to the sniper in stride, after finishing his drink.

"Guess you'll have to pay her, then," Zoro answered.

"Yeah, I know," Usopp said, sagging in his seat. "But -" He paused, and moved his head slowly upward to look at Zoro, and then Sanji, who still had his back turned and was counting and recounting the bacon he had cooked - one piece was missing, apparently. "But wait..." He pointed an accusatory finger at Zoro. "Aren't you mad about the lie?"

"I would be," Zoro answered, "If she had lied. I'm pissed she thinks it's any of her business, though."

"What do you mean she didn't lie?" Usopp pressed.

"I meant what I said."

"But do you realize what you just said?" the sniper's voice was rising frantically now.

"Yes, Usopp, he knows!" Sanji slammed down a plate of pancakes on the table, and pressed his face into the sniper's own, until his nose pressed up the cook's forehead. "Zoro and I like to tongue-fuck, don't tell the rest of the crew, and keep your fucking paws off the bacon until breakfast is ready next time!"

The sniper fainted, and the swordsman could hardly blame him. He had lost a good amount of money, after all, and the cook's looks when somebody stole food were always dangerous enough to kill.

Zoro poked Usopp unconscious form for a moment with his index finger, and then gave a pitying look up at the cook. "Oi, Sanji, I think you shocked him half to death."

"He's breathing," the cook snapped back. He set out three plates and began to make them up, putting the perfect amount of every dish he had prepared for breakfast on each piece of white china, dropped decorative slices of orange peel, and then he paused for a second, and looked down, confused by his own actions. Every day, the cook prepared food for the entire crew, but the only plates he set up every time were for Nami-san and Robin-chan. Yet he had started setting up three plates...one with extra bacon...why was that?

"I can't believe you said tongue-fuck," the swordsman chuckled, and then Sanji looked at the plate with extra bacon, scowled, and slammed it down in front of Zoro.

"Eat," he barked. "I'll wake everyone up."

Zoro frowned. "I can't eat until Robin or Nami does."

If the swordsman had been a lesser man, he too would have wilted underneath the glare that the cook shot up before he left the room. Smiling, Zoro picked up his fork and began to eat a delicious breakfast, sans the decorative orange peel, which he'd save to slip Luffy when the cook wasn't looking - Sanji was cracking under the swordsman's affections, there was no doubt about it. It was only a matter of time.

Maybe he'd work out topless today, he considered, a manipulative glint in his eye. A good sheen of sweat was bound to drive that horny pervert up one of Nami's mikan trees.

ZOSAN

The cook was restless. The sun was going down and Zoro had finished his work out undisturbed, all day, in the heat and glaring light, and then showered, all alone, in the steamy bath house. Now he was laying out on the aft of the deck, eyes drifting shut, cracking them occasionally to watch as the cook watered Robin's plants, trimmed Nami's trees, and smoked, smoked, and smoked.

At the moment, Sanji was smoking, leaning on the railing of the stern, watching the sun, which was just a dimmed arc barely raised above the glittering black and blue sea. For the first time all day, he was motionless, the only indicator of his wakefulness the streams of smoke that stemmed above him at regular intervals. Zoro watched as the last golden ray of light caught in the sheen of Sanji's hair, the wind tussling in playfully as it wrapped about the ship. The sea was silent tonight, barely lapping at the hull, and the crew was quiet in turn, all heading off to an early sleep. Robin was still up in the library, and Franky was finishing something downstairs, and the soft, lilting notes of a lullaby began to rise from Brook's violin. It sounded like the skeleton was actually singing the entire world to sleep to the tune of Bink's Sake. Zoro smiled. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was home. All he needed was the cook in his arms.

But as the cook tossed his cigarette in the ocean, he did not head toward Zoro at all. He gave the swordsman one look, but the green-haired man was still pretending to be asleep, and thus it was missed completely that Zoro saw him. In return, the cook frowned and shuffled back off to the galley, mumbling to himself about cleaning up. After the door behind him had clicked shut, the swordsman sighed and picked himself up, dusting off his black pants. He glanced about the abandoned deck and headed down to the galley himself.

He opened the door slowly, and it creaked on the hinges. He closed it ever slower, watching as the cook scrubbed at a spot on the counter with a rag, working his lanky arms rapidly to get out a stain.

"Worried?" Zoro asked.

"About what?" Sanji snapped.

"About the slave traders."

Sanji paused and set aside his rag. He sighed. "Yeah," he said honestly. "Freaking the fuck out, actually. They wouldn't just let me go. And it was just too damn easy for somebody with so many resources..." He gripped the counter hard. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not afraid, but..."

"It's okay, I understand," Zoro cut him off. "I wouldn't know how to explain it either."

This placated the cook. He threw the rag in the sink and leaned against the counter. "Just...the thought of being..." he gulped. "The thought of being violated. It shouldn't be...it should never be..."

"I would never let them," Zoro said. He meant it to sound consoling, but it came out more like a growl and a threat.

"I know," Sanji sighed. "I know, you and everybody else." He appeared flustered and upset, and due to this, unbuttoned the top buttons of his dress shirt, allowing just the slightest bit of skin to show - his jutting collarbone, the deep dip at the base of his neck, the beginning of his pectoral muscles slopping upward. He shifted his weight nervously.

"Do your feet still hurt?" Zoro asked.

"A bit," Sanji admitted. "It's nothing I can't handle, though."

"How about your back?"

"Not at all," he grimaced. "Think I'm so weak to let that bother me anymore?"

Zoro frowned. "You nearly bled out, dumbass."

The cook shrugged. "More worried about my feet anyway. I can't fight up to par with shitty feet."

"Sit down," Zoro ordered, pointing at the bench at the table. The cook frowned, pink lips turning ever so slightly down around the edges, but he obeyed, and when he reached the seat, he nearly collapsed into it. Satisfied, Zoro kneeled before him, and smirked as the cook blushed deeply.

"It's not what you think," he muttered, and he fell back, sitting down on his own feet, and pulled off Sanji's shoes, carefully, and then removed the socks as well. The man's feet were hard, smooth, and yet delicately curved, with the highest arch that Zoro had ever seen on a man before. He wrapped his thick hand around the right one and began to rub deep circles into the skin with the pads of his finger and thumbs.

Sanji groaned, deep in the back of his throat, and threw his head back. "Oh, shit, Zoro," he gasped. "There, right there..."

Zoro bit back every perverted thought that leapt into his mind and continued, cupping the man's heel and working over the calluses on that, before moving up to lightly rub rotating marks up and down the arch, both above and below, avoiding putting pressure directly on the wound, which was a pink, puckered hole in the center of the man's foot. He grasped the balls of Sanji's feet and pressed in hard, and likewise put pressure on the bony knuckles right at the start of the toes. He massaged into Sanji's moans ran low, and then took each toe and massaged each in turn, starting at the smallest and working his way up the line. Lastly, the swordsman slid his hands up in unison to grasp the cook's ankle, and he rotated it, slowly to the right, hearing the creaking of the man's bones, and then to the left, feeling popping of air pockets under his touch. Sanji sighed and slumped in the chair, against the table, looking as though he'd just been thoroughly fucked, and Zoro still had another foot left.

"Left," the swordsman requested, and the cook slid his left foot forward, and Zoro grasped it in a similar manner and began to do the same pattern he had done on the right. As always, Sanji was full of reactions, twisting in his seat and gasping when Zoro worked on a particularly difficult knot under his skin. Eventually, the swordsman finished with the left foot as well, and he pressed the lightest of kisses to the top of Sanji's foot.

"Thank you," the cook gasped, "That was just what I needed."

"Now you can fight," Zoro said. "So there's nothing left to worry about." He sat back on the ground and leaned against the back of the counter, rolling his shoulders experimentally, getting all the kinks out from doing the massage. He watched as, above him, the cook leaned forward in his seat and surveyed Zoro with a clear, intelligent eye.

"No," he answered. "There's still something I need to worry about." His voice was low and hoarse from the moaning, husky and fresh and coated with the deep rasp of a smoker. Zoro felt like all of his nerves were suddenly on fire.

"What's that?" he asked.

"If they do manage to get me," Sanji whispered. "I'd still die a virgin."

"Well, we can't let that happen," Zoro responded.

"No," Sanji said. He kneeled on the ground in front of Zoro, and pulled off the man's black boats, and pushed aside the swordsman's three katanas, just out of reach. "We can't let that happen."

And then, like a tidal wave, the cook was crashing down upon Zoro, and Zoro was too overwhelmed to even to bother to come up for air. He raised his hands and ran them through Sanji's blond locks, gripped the sides of his head and pushing the cook into his jaw, kissing with enough power to bruise lips, and Sanji's hand eventually found Zoro's own head, and he brushed against Zoro's earrings, letting them jangle in the silence of the galley, before he gripped the man's marimo hair and pulled, pulled desperately like the man was the only oxygen at the bottom of the sea.

"Thank you, Zoro," he gasped, pulling back for just a moment, before flying down to kiss again and again. "Thank you for caring. Thank you for loving me." He slipped his hands down and ran them against Zoro's white shirt, feeling the chest muscles underneath. "Thank you for loving me...for me."

"How sentimental," the swordsman teased. He wrapped his arms around the cook and pulled him into a steady embrace, and then flipped the lighter man, so Sanji had his back against the floor and Zoro was pressing down above him, the weight of his muscular body only a thing that one such as Sanji could handle easily. "Thank you for letting me," he said, and he stooped low, kissing at Sanji's neck, licking and sucking at where the pulse was, under the ear. The swordsman gasped when Sanji, in turn, bit down on Zoro's three earrings and tugged at them, at the same time sending a thrust of his hips into the swordsman's groin.

Sanji gripped Zoro's hips and forcibly thrust into them again, which made Zoro slip the slightest moan from his lips. He bit it back forcibly, teeth digging into his bottom lip. The cook snarled, "What if they attack right now, bastard? I'll be half hard and a virgin."

"You are impatient," Zoro pressed down on Sanji's shoulders, holding him against the floor. "These things take time."

"I'm not a woman!" Sanji insisted.

"I know," Zoro ground out, his voice guttural and deep. He slid a hand in between their two bodies and clasped Sanji's package, squeezing it and running his fingers up and down the hardness underneath the fabric of dress pants. Sanji leaned into the man's touch. "I know," the swordsman repeated, his point having more meaning now.

The cook moved his hands upward and grabbed the rim of Zoro's shirt and pulled. The swordsman allowed it to come off over his head, and he let the cook run his greedy fingers up and down his stomach, his chest, tracing his fingers down the V-shaped muscles that led into his pants. His long-fingered hands moved to the swordsman's back and started at the small of it, before reaching up and splayed outward, thin digits grasped at each of Zoro's shoulder blades, fingernails digging in and pulled the man closer to the cook.

Desperately, Zoro ran his fingers underneath Sanji's shirt and when it didn't go up far enough, he began unbuttoned it with clumsy passionate fingers, eventually freeing it and letting it hang loose at the man's side. His hands roamed all over Sanji's chest in turn, feeling the ripples of the long and lithe strength of the cook as he leaned into Zoro's touch, and finally, the swordsman's rough tips of his fingers traced against Sanji's pert nipples, and the cook gasped.

Wasting no time, Zoro milked that reaction for all it was worth, and dipped in low, fixing his mouth on the nipple and tracing a circle around it with the tip of his tongue, before taking it into his mouth, suckling, and then, half in daring and half in passion, he bit down on the bud. Sanji cried out and arched his back obscenely at the pain. Zoro smirked. Sanji gripped the short hairs on the back of the swordsman's head and pulled him up again for a kiss, and while he did this, the cook's hands ran down the strong, bronze back until they slipped under the black pants and cupped Zoro's ass, pushing their hips together once more.

"Fuck, cook, you're gonna kill me," Zoro said. "I'm trying to make your first time something special."

"Don't bother," Sanji growled. "I don't plan on it being my last."

Zoro took this like a lion does when released from a cage. He began to move more like the demon inside of him and less like a man, pushing Sanji down with his rough carresses, and ripping at the man's pants, kicking off his own boots in the process. He pawed at the fabric until Sanji's cock came free, and immediately, no teasing involved, allowed his mouth to crash down around it, sending the cook into a frenzy of sudden sensations, bucking into the swordsman's mouth wildly. Zoro took it in stride, pulling and sucking and pushing at the back of his own throat.

"Stop!" Sanji cried. "Stop or I'll -"

It was too late, but that was exactly what the swordsman wanted. He allowed the cook's fluid to land all over his mouth, but he did not swallow, keeping it locked behind his teeth. He sat up slowly, a gleam in his eye, and looked down at Sanji, who was laying below him, spread out, flushed and head turned aside, spittle running from the edge of his lips and nipples and chest still slick with saliva.

Zoro pulled at the cook's pants until Sanji regained himself enough to kick them off. He pulled at his own, with the help of the cook's broken-seeming fingers, tugging helplessly, desperately at the fabric. Eventually they fell loose and Zoro was able to use his toes to rip them off completely. He glanced down again, taking in the vision of Sanji in all of his nakedness. His long, long legs were spread and bent at the knee, and just barely the man could glimpse the cook's pink, puckered opening. Above that, was the man's already half-hard again dick, pulsating and pink, sleek with spit, jutting out into the open air. Sanji panted and gasped, his hands hanging useless at either side of his head, fingers twitching with just a hint of life left in them.

Keeping eye contact, Zoro opened his mouth, and let the white fluid he had collected earlier spill out into the palm of his hand, droplets slipping off the tip of his tongue in a steady stream, collecting in a pool of thick viscosity in his cupped hand, dribbling on his fingertips. As Sanji watched, his mouth slowly opened, both eyes now visible, both wide in shock. As the cook watched, his cock twitched, and it took all Zoro had to not smirk in satisfaction.

Zoro lowered his hand, coated in slickness, and placed it, warm still from Sanji's body and his mouth, down all around the cook's entrance, rubbing in circles. In response, the cook gasped.

"No wait -" he said. "I don't know, I mean, maybe I can -"

The swordsman froze. He pulled his fingers back. "Do you want to top?" he asked.

"I do," Sanji answered. But he didn't move off the floor. "Well, actually," he blushed and looked aside. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

Zoro smiled, and with his dry hand, he caressed the side of the cook's face, running the back of his hand from chin to his ear, right along his jawline. "I promise I'll make it worth it," he said, softly now, "We'll take it slow, if you want."

The cook shook his head. "No, I'm going crazy, you asshole. He pulled his legs up, lewd and ready, and presented his full entrance to Zoro. "Just fuck me, Zoro." His legs shook for a second, and then he thrusted upward, with those powerful, sexy hips. "Please."

"Gladly," Zoro responded, although his erect cock was already saying the words for him. He leaned in and kissed Sanji on the lips, lightly, before slipping in tongue in the man's mouth and running it along the cook's row of teeth. As he did so, the swordsman's cock rubbed against Sanji's own, and they both humped and moaned at the sensations of touching, Sanji's still wet with Zoro's spit, and Zoro's dry and neglected.

Pulling back from the kiss, Zoro stuck his fingers toward Sanji's face. "Suck," he requested. "I need more." Sanji opened his mouth and Zoro stuck his fingers in. Like the natural tease he was, the cook ran his tongue up and down the digits, circling and swirling around them, driving Zoro crazy as he flicked and sucked and slowly let the swordsman pull them free.

"I just tasted myself," Sanji said, quietly. He bit his lip, and it was clear to the swordsman that he was slightly disgusted.

"I think you taste delicious," Zoro countered. And before touching the cook with his wet fingers, he leaned down and buried his face in between the blonde's legs, and daringly, intimately, ran his tongue around the man's clean entrance, and then, like the deft slither of a snake, he slipped his sharp tip of a tongue inside for just a moment. With the touch, the cook squirmed and moaned. "Fuck," he gasped. "Shitty marimo."

Zoro returned to the task at hand, and he placed his fingers back at the entrance, coming up and wrapping his other hand around Sanji's now erect again arousal. He pumped the man's length to distract him from the intrusion, easing his finger from knuckle to hilt, and then pulling out and doing it again and again, before adding a second finger. Sanji pushed into it, but the grimace of his face betrayed that he was actually uncomfortable.

But Zoro had a trick up his sleeve, and he now felt the time was right to place the ace card. With a come-hither motion of the finger embedded inside his lover, he hit a bundle of nerves, and Sanji cried out, unable to keep it back, a wordless moan as he bucked and his cock twitched in the swordsman's hand.

"What was that?" Sanji asked.

"It's why you let me fuck you, you dirty whore," Zoro responded. Sanji scowled at the words, but he ground his hips further into Zoro's fingers, which led Zoro to add a third, scissoring and stretching the cook, filling him up as best as he could.

"Just fuck me, would you?" the cook pressed again. Zoro nodded - he couldn't take it any longer. His neglected erection was pounding, blood making it nearly purpled, his balls heavy and twitching and all itching for the sweet, tightness of his lover's insides. He pulled his fingers away and aligned himself with Sanji's entrance, gripped the cook's hips with a force that would leave marks in the morning, and pushed in the tip.

"Nnnn," Sanji gritted his teeth. "Shit shit shit shit shit..."

Zoro stopped. "Are you okay?" he asked, but Sanji looked up, finally, from where his eyes had been downcast, and fixed Zoro with his battle stare.

"Bring it on, marimo," he insisted, raising his hips, and the swordsman did as he was told, thrusting into the cook completely, all the way to the hilt, in one smooth motion. The cook cried out again, this time in more pain than pleasure, and he thrust out his hands, grabbing Zoro's hips in an order to stay still. The swordsman complied.

"Just a minute," Sanji said through his teeth. "Just a fucking minute, and fuck, you are big, you son of a bitch..."

Zoro's mind was screaming, but he kept his demons at bay, staying still, watching as Sanji allowed his body to adjust, eventually leaning back into the feeling. He nodded and removed his hands from the swordsman's hips, indicating that it was okay for Zoro to move. And move he did, pulling back and then pressing back into the tight, wonderful, warm inner body of his lover, every pelvic muscles clamping down and adding friction to his cock, everything in him demanding that he pump harder, deeper, farther. Finally, he slipped his hands under the cook and gripped his plump ass, angling him correctly so he could hit that sweet spot inside his lover, and with that connection, the cook cried out again, flinging a hand over his mouth to stifle the sounds. Zoro noticed there were tears leaking form the corners of both of the man's beautiful, azure eyes. They glimmered as Sanji blinked furiously, pressing his hips forward, his other hand tugged at the swordsman until he came in for a kiss and then remaining, rubbing up and down the man's back, digging in his fingernails to stave off cries with Zoro hit those bundle of nerves.

_I feel so wanted_, Sanji's body seemed to say, rocking against Zoro's in the silence, on the floor of the galley, both enraptured with each other, both moving in perfect tandem of tightness and sensation.

_I feel so needed_, Zoro's body seemed to say, pushing into his lover, sending him over the cliff near orgasm as Zoro neared his own, beginning to grunt very lowly, droplets of sweat falling from his brow and on to the cook's heaving chest.

"Zoro, Zoro," Sanji called out. "Zoro, I'm going to -"

"Yes, Sanji," Zoro responded. He thrust into the cook and lowered his hand to cusp Sanji's face, turning it so the cook had no choice but to have their eyes meet. As soon as they did, Sanji flew off the edge, as his overworked arousal pumped out streams of liquid all over his chest and even Zoro's own. Soon after, Zoro followed, releasing himself inside the cook, coating the man's inside walls, and muttering the cook's name and a couple of curses.

Exhausted, the swordsman collapsed atop of Sanji, letting himself become slippery with the cook's cum, as the cook panted and leaked on to the floor. Eventually, Sanji gathered the strength in his post coitus daze to grasp the back of Zoro's head and tug, feebly, at the roots of the man's green hair. The swordsman lifted his head and met Sanji's blue eyes, both of which were slowly closing right before him.

"Too good," the cook gasped. "Put me to bed, Zoro, please."

"Sure," Zoro said between breaths. "As long as I can sleep with you."

"Of course," Sanji responded, letting his eyes fall closed. "We'll always be together."

"Why's that?" Zoro asked, reaching with a lazy hand for a rag to clean them up, realizing that the cook beneath him was surely about to pass out from sexual exhaustion and sensory overload.

"Because I love you, that's why," Sanji whispered, and then he prompted drifted off to sleep.

Above him, Zoro smiled, and pushed himself to his feet. He fetched a rag and cleaned the cook's chest, and then forced the man back into his pants and put on his own, before slinging him over his shoulder and carrying him back to the men's cabin. Thankfully, everyone was asleep or at least pretending to be. He laid down in his hammock and pulled the cook atop of him, rubbing the man's golden locks until he began to drift off to sleep, too.

Oddly enough, just before he fell asleep, he could have sworn he heard the sound of taxi horns blaring and echoing off of New York pavement.

_A/N: So, I had a dream I wrote this chapter and I thought it was real for three days, because it was so realistic. And then I check my account and realize, no, I didn't update it, and no, I didn't even write this. So here it is now! I stayed up until nearly 6AM to do this (oh wait, I'm always up until 6AM) _

_So, I don't know if I threw you guys for a twist or not, but I guess you can guess what's going to happen. And don't worry, I'm not cutting it off with the switch back: there's backlash to deal with! And slave traders! And Doflamingo, that sexy sociopath! _

_Read and review! 400 reviews and maybe I'll do a special one shot of some odd couple! _


	28. Interlude

**Disclaimer: Oda owns One Piece. I am not Oda. Sometimes I wish I was, but then I wouldn't get to fangirl over it, so that's no fun, is it?**

_Zoro was running through the woods, tearing past bushes and getting scraped by the undergrowth again. This time, he wasn't looking for the cook. He had Sanji, draped over his shoulder. And Sanji was bleeding - Zoro could feel the red life water of the man he so desperately loved dripping down his shoulder. He needed a doctor, he needed Chopper, he needed help._

_For some reason, he felt like he should stop and look over the cook's wounds, maybe put some sort of mediocre bandage around them, since it seemed like they were far from any sort of civilization. He stopped and lightly lay out the cook's body on the ground in front of him. The wound was on his back, and it was deep, leaving a pool of blood underneath him already, staining and wetting the grass._

_And there, on the cook's feet - how come he hadn't noticed? He wasn't wearing his shoes, because through both of his feet, there were awful, gaping holes, like somebody had stuck nails through them to keep them to the ground. _

_Zoro grasped his head in his hand and bit back irrational sobs that threatened to rack his body into uselessness. How could he allow the cook's feet to get hurt? How did he let this happen? Why couldn't he protect him?_

"_You are so beautiful," he heard his own voice say, although he didn't know why or from where._

_Sanji twitched and reached out with a red, dripping hand...Zoro clasped it between two of his own and kissed it, tasting the sting of iron. "Wish I wasn't," the cook gasped out, in between riddles of his pain. "Then they wouldn't take me away from you."_

"_No one is going to take you away from me!" Zoro screamed, shaking the cook's shoulders. Why was he doing that? The cook was wounded. Sanji coughed up some blood and Zoro pulled back his hands in horror. _

"_It's okay..." the cook mumbled, his words beginning to slur together as he sunk into unconsciousness. "I'll think of you. Even when they hold me down and fuck me...even if they whip me and break all the bones in my hands...I'll think of you."_

_He then swiped his face with aforementioned hands, leaving thick swabs of blood across those beautiful, curled eyebrows, tear tracks of crimson on his cheeks. "I'll think of..." he coughed again, too much blood. Too much. "I'll think of how you failed to protect me."_

Zoro woke up, sweating profusely, heart pounding, and screamed. He thrashed wildly, throwing out his arms and kicking against the body above him that was trying to hold him down. He had to get to the cook, he had to save him, there was still time left...

"Zoro! Zoro! Are you okay? Zoro, stop!"

"Sanji?" he asked, confused. He blinked a few times and took in the sight around him. Sanji was holding him down with his hands and feet combined, face scrunched by the effort. They were lying in their bed in the apartment. The cook still smelled like the onions and garlic he had mixed into their dinner. He still had the taste of his last beer on his tongue. It was nighttime, and the city lights seeped silently in front between the drapes.

He sighed and relaxed under the cook's touch. He was still in New York. Sanji was still safe. At least, his husband was.

"It was a nightmare," he explained. Sanji nodded in understanding. "Did I hurt you?"

"Don't be stupid," Sanji scoffed.

Zoro sighed. He looked over at Sanji, who had pulled back and relaxed on to his side of the bed again, climbing underneath his mussed up covers. The cook was elegant even in his night clothes, perfect tussled and relaxed, stretched out like a cat on a carpet, long limbs everywhere and nowhere at once. The swordsman felt the strong desire to assure himself that the cook was there, that the man beside him was real, and still alive, and still as healthy as ever. He reached out and roughly pulled Sanji into his chest.

"Don't you leave me," he muttered into the cook's hair. He pressed a fierce kiss into the man's scalp, mashing his lips against the blond's skull.

Sanji chuckled. "That kind of nightmare, huh? I think I deserve to have those rather than you. You were the one who went all pirate on me."

"I am a pirate, idiot cook," Zoro insisted. "And your the man I love." He rolled over, the cook still in his arms, and laid on top of him, kissing the cook's clear forehead, his curled eyebrows, running his hands through his hair and laughing as he saw Sanji's mismatched curly-cues. He pecked the man's nose and trailed kisses up and down the cook's jaw. Sanji sighed into them, leaning his head back and allowing the swordsman access to his neck, which Zoro took gleefully, leaving kissing all over there too.

More than anything, in this moment, Zoro felt that he could not get close enough to Sanji to be satisfied. He wanted to crawl inside the cook's skin, and be within him from the inside out, breathing Sanji, seeing only Sanji, healthy and alive. It was a need that made him feel cold wherever he was not touching Sanji's skin, and he desperately ran his fingers underneath the cook to hold him tighter to his body.

"I dreamt you were dying, because I couldn't protect you," Zoro gasped into the nape of Sanji's neck. "I can't lose you...I can't." He ran his hands lower and held Sanji's hips against his own.

The cook smiled endearingly, although for some reason he looked a tad bit sad. Zoro didn't know why, but he felt like he was saying goodbye, and it killed him. It felt like a knife through the heart, as though his chest cavity actually ached, dreading to hear those words.

"I love you, Zoro, man of the sea or man of New York City. You're my marimo, and no one else's, got it?" he promised, reaching up and gripping the back of Zoro's head, and he brought the swordsman down for a soul-wrenching kiss. A quiet kiss, a kiss without any lip-smacking or saliva, a kiss that lovers share only in the most secret and darkest places of their souls.

"Can I make love to you, Sanji?" the swordsman asked, as they broke apart. The cook smiled again, almost lopsided, this time, and nodded.

"I wouldn't want it any other way," he answered. With approval granted, Zoro found his hands reaching into the cook's night pants, lightly cupping the man's half-aroused erection. He worked with it as they kissed, hands roaming but little else. Both of them seemed overcome with the desire to touch as much as they possibly could, as though the next morning would bring some inevitable fate that would tear them apart.

Sanji fumbled and reached out toward the nightstand, and then he pulled out a small bottle of lubricant. Zoro took it in his hand without question and sat up for a moment, pulling Sanji out of his pants. He slipped his hands underneath the cook's t-shirt for a moment, feeling the taut muscles under his skin, before taking off that as well. He landed kisses on Sanji's collarbone and nipples, on his breastbone and on his stomach, on his hips and right above that small patch of blond hairs at his pelvis. He kissed like sea spray falling on the shore, gentle, light, but meaningful and everywhere all at once.

Zoro uncapped the bottle and took a generous amount into his hand. He did what he had felt Sanji do to him, coating the man's entrance in a circular pattern, before entering him with his fingers. The tightness was like nothing Zoro had ever felt before - it was virginal tight, although this cook was no virgin. He slipped in another finger and watched for Sanji's reaction, but the cook gave little except for the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks.

"Like this," the cook whispered, and he gestured, moving his fingers upward at the midpoint. Zoro copied the motion, and the cook arched into the touch, but let loose no moans. He inserted his fingers a bit deeper and repeated it, and then bit deeper some more and did it again. This time, there was the reaction the swordsman wanted, the reaction he needed. Sanji bit down on his lip and moaned, he lifted his hips and ground into Zoro's hand.

Pulling out his fingers, Zoro placed the lubricant on his own hardness, coating it liberally. He felt Sanji's fingers grasping at the bottom of his shirt, and he ducked his head, allowing the cook to lift it off of him completely. He fell down on top of the blond, their faces so close that they were inhaling the air the other exhaled. Zoro aligned his erection with the cook's entrance and paused for a moment, taking in face of the man below him.

Sanji was waiting, open and ready, their bodies flush and hot skin touching. But those blue eyes looked downcast, filled with a longing that Zoro felt like he could not feed. Despite this, he had the most dire need to try to fill the cook as best as he could, to try to make love to him with the best of his ability, if only to show Sanji, one last time, that he truly, truly loved the man. He loved Sanji like most pirates loved the sea, he loved Sanji like he loved the feeling of Wado Ichimonji in his hand - powerful, strong, and always there. A enigma that was constantly changing, ebbing and flowing like water with the tides, but yet, in that same essence, he was unchanging, always blue, always there, all over the world. There was the sea, and there was Sanji.

His cook. His husband. The man he loved. Why did this feel like goodbye?

If it was goodbye, he refused to say it. He thrust into the cook, slowly, allowing all the sensations to flood him as he had to bite down on his lower lip to keep the moan at bay. The tightness was unreal, and from the way the cook arched his back below him, he knew he had been successful in giving the other man pleasure. He leaned down, sure that he was bending flexible Sanji in half by doing so, but so overcome with his desire to kiss the cook that he didn't care. And with each thrust, he kissed, warm welcomes waiting for him. The kisses were sloppy and missed, but as Sanji moaned in his ear and Zoro gasped into the cook's, he felt them rocking slowly, like the ship is rocked by the waves, rocking slowly into ecstasy.

One of the cook's hands was on his back, and the other was laid out on his side, open palm up. Zoro reached out with his own hand, the one not tangled in Sanji's hair, and grasped his hand. Their fingers intertwined, and finally, Zoro felt one with Sanji, one as he thrust into the man below him, one as they kissed, one as they held hands. He held on tighter and tighter as orgasm threatened to grip him, swearing he would never let go.

"I can't lose you," Zoro gasped, reaching the peak of his hardness, his erection throbbing inside of Sanji's tight inner warmth. Sanji bucked up against him, running a hand up and down Zoro's back muscles, his long legs wrapped around the swordsman's hips.

"Then don't let go," Sanji answered, in between moans as Zoro continuously hit his sweet bundle of nerves within himself. Suddenly, the cook's muscles below tightened viscously, and Sanji let his head fall back with a silent scream, eyes closing and smooth jets of liquid blossoming from his cock. Zoro sighed, releasing himself in turn, a broken groan falling from his lips as he kissed the cook below him, emptying himself, still not letting go of that precious, precious hand.

Eventually, they peeled apart, and fell besides each other, Sanji in Zoro's arms, both naked and still covered in the mess from their activities. Zoro's light breathing in Sanji's lips aided him in falling into a sated sleep, but the swordsman stayed up a bit longer, feeling the cook's hands go limp in his own, still refusing to untangle his fingers even as the blackness of sleep loomed in the edges of his vision.

He leaned down and put one last kiss on the back of Sanji's hair. He smelt like the ocean, still. Zoro also, for a moment, felt like the bed was almost rocking back and forth, as if they were at sea. The swordsman and his cook, in a hammock on the Thousand Sunny - now how perfect would that be...

_A/N: Not a full chapter, just a little Interlude before the storm. Sorry for all the fluff, but I just wanted to let them say goodbye. *sniff*_


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: One Piece and it's characters are not mine. But that doesn't mean I can't make them dance! I'm like a little Doflamingo! Except without the pink fluffy boa thing and the sunglasses.**

Zoro breathed out heavily and ran his hands through the blonde hand laying on his chest. It felt like Sanji was completely on top of him. He smiled, opening his eyes to take in the beautiful man that had laid across his body, long legs intertwined with Zoro's own, his hands clasped about the swordsman's neck, swaying as their hammock rocked steadily. The just before sunrise glow had settled in the room and it made the cook look even more heavenly, with golden highlights of hair glimmering and his soft skin looking smooth and glowing. He petted the head again and sighed, closing his eyes to drift off to sleep.

Wait.

The swordsman opened his eyes again and looked around wildly. They were in a hammock. They were in the men's cabin of the Thousand Sunny. Their wanted posters and lockers on the walls, Luffy snoring up a storm, Franky hanging over the edges of his with his monstrous arms, Usopp mumbling about Sogeking in his sleep...and to the corner, a reindeer, snuggled in his blanket, looking for all the world like a pet and not the intelligent doctor that he was.

Zoro felt his heart pounding, and his skin was beginning to break out in a sweat. This was the third time in a matter of weeks that he had woken up with no recollection of how he had gotten there, and every time the results had not been promising. Although this was his home, although this was where he should feel most comfortable, he felt the urge to run. In just a manner of two or so weeks, the apartment in New York City had begun to feel like a home to him, and he had begun to settle in, get used to the layout of the place... And now he was here? Why?

And Sanji...

Was this his Sanji? Which one was even _his _Sanji? Was this pirate Sanji or Sanji, the All Blue head chef and owner, his husband? The man was laying on top of him, which made Zoro presume for a moment that he had taken back his husband Sanji with him to the world he recalled, but the cook Sanji was nowhere to be found...and it was far too early to start breakfast. Fearful of waking up the man draped over him, he ran his hands tentatively down the cook's sides, relaxing him, before lifting one of the cook's arms to better take a look at that hand.

It was just like that hand that he promised he would never let go of last night. But he wasn't holding it anymore. And it wasn't the same hand. This hand was different for one glaring reason - there was no ring. Not a sign of a ring or an indent or a tan line. This was Blackleg Sanji, pirate cook of the sea, and for some inexplicable reason, he was sleeping with Zoro, in his hammock, on the Thousand Sunny, a soft smile on his face like he was about to wake up to Christmas.

Surfacing like a spare bit of flotsam, the fortune that had plagued Zoro's thoughts crossed his mind. _Fix the balance between the worlds...a switch will be made_... Was that really what happened here? Then what was the balance, and how had it been fixed? And did that mean that his entire experience with Sanji, Sanji the chef, Sanji the loving, sexy, wonderful cook...that it was all a lie? A heaviness settled in Zoro's chest, completely unrelated to the man laying on top of him. The heaviness ached at first, small and steady, as he thought of Sanji speaking of Kuina like he knew her, Sanji saving him for Saga in his drug-induced haze, Sanji kissing him softly, slowly, reaching out to him desperately from the bed covers. The ache grew, ripping apart at his insides, telling him that the Sanji who wanted to open a soup kitchen, the Sanji who wanted to raise children with him, the Sanji who he loved, loved with a force that brought him to his knees - this Sanji was a lie, was unreal, and worst of all, did not belong to him, and never belonged to him.

And then the horror: frantically, Zoro ran his hands all over the cook laying across him, as if checking to see all of his vital organs were still inside and his limbs were attached. If Zoro was really in an alternate universe, he never considered the possibility that the Zoro from New York, the one his husband Sanji truly loved, had been here. Zoro from New York had been here on the Thousand Sunny, living with Sanji the pirate chef.

Tentatively, Zoro lifted up the corners of the loose white shirt the cook was wearing, and gasped. Underneath, on his hips, were a set of bruises, blue and purpled and in places, black. Bruises made by fingerprints digging into skin. He glanced down at Sanji's bare feet and saw red, puckered holes, as though somebody had stuck nails through them. And then, lifting up the shirt even farther, making sure his fingers did a fair bit of caressing, he finally revealed a deep, wicked wound that had torn apart the cook's back, far on its way to healing, but still evidence of a nasty battle the cook had undergone.

Red clouded the swordsman's vision. He dropped the fabric in his fingers and let his hands shake at his side. His entire body was racked by tremors, and the urge to see blood. At the other side of the room, he could already hear his katanas singing, begging to be held. _What the fuck had he done? What the fuck at that low-life, assassin, idiot New York Zoro done to Sanji?_

There were love bites on the cook's neck, bruises on his hips, and wounds scattered along his body. Had that son of a bitch raped him? Zoro tried desperately to reel in the thoughts and images that threatened to send him into a blind rage, but he couldn't, he just couldn't keep them at bay.

His thick, callused, hands - hands he remembered, hands with no ring, but rather with rope burns from pulling rigging - his hands clamped down on the cook's shoulders and shook him roughly. He sat up and held the cook up to a kneeling position as he came into wakefulness. Groggily, the chef shook his shoulders and scowled at him.

"What the fuck do you want now, marimo?" he mumbled.

Zoro bit down on his lower lip and turned his head away. Not his husband...but his Sanji... It took every ounce of his determination to look the cook in his singular, visible blue eye. "What did he do to you?" he demanded.

"What are you talking about?" Sanji asked, confused.

"That fucking impostor, that New York bastard, what the fuck did he do to you?"

He watched as the cook's eyes grew wide, realization dawning upon him. He knocked both of Zoro's hands off his shoulders with a swipe of his hand, disdainful and rough, just like the swordsman remembered him. "So you remember who you are now?" he spat. "How fucking convenient for you."

"No." Zoro felt so ashamed, the cook must be disgusted by him. "That fortune I got...that switch thing really happened...I went to some weird place called New York and you were there...but now I'm back here and I don't know why," he cursed, and waved these explanations aside. "It doesn't fucking matter though, you have bruises and wounds all over you! What the fuck did he do to you, Sanji! Tell me!"

Sanji glared, eyes narrowed, and neatly buttoned up the top of his shirt, each action punctuated by his furious demeanor. "Shut the hell up, you shitty bastard, I don't give a rat's ass where you've been. And I can take care of myself, okay, so don't worry about what happened while you were gone. Just leave me the hell alone."

The cook tried to get up, pushing himself away from Zoro and climbing out of the hammock. But once he got out and stood on his feet, he groaned and stumbled, falling on his knees, a hand clasped toward his backside where the pain had originated from.

"Fuck!" Zoro screamed. He clamored back in his bed, putting distance between himself and the man he failed, horror rising up against the raging sea of anger that had welled within him. "Tell me he didn't touch you," he demanded of the cook. "Tell me he didn't rape you, cook, or I swear I'll -"

Sanji pushed himself to his feet and stood. He turned slowly and gave the swordsman a look that Zoro found hard to define; it was full of rage and disgust and fire, full of ice and distance and apathy, full of disdain and fear and a thousand other things. It took a moment for it to settle in, but Zoro began to recognize the emotion. It was hate.

Sanji hated him.

"What happened here is none of your business." Sanji found his tie on the floor and swiftly tied it around his neck. "Don't talk to me about it again."

And he left.

But Zoro didn't leave it like that. He had learned over the course of the past dozen days or so that he should never just leave it like that, and that the cook was worth chasing after. So he stumbled out of bed, leaving his swords behind from habit in New York, and burst into the galley, where he knew the cook would be. And there he was, a glimmering nine inch chef's nice grasped so tightly in his right hand that his knuckles were white, slamming blows down on a victimized eggplant.

"Sanji..." he said.

"What?" the cook barked, turning around, knife still brandished in his hand, looking for the first time like a real weapon to the swordsman. He pointed the blade at Zoro from across the room. "What the hell do you want?"

"I'm not him!" Zoro insisted this, and felt desperate and pathetic as he did so, but he just had to explain, he had to make Sanji see - he couldn't stand that thought that not only did the cook not love him, but he hated him, hated him with all the fire in his passionate, wonderful heart. "I don't know what he did to you, but I'm pissed as hell at this bastard for whatever he did do..." he gripped the doorframe, leaving deep ridges in the Adam's wood. "Sanji, I'm your nakama. I'm not that son of bitch. I wouldn't actually hurt you like that."

The cook twirled the knife between his fingers and then drove it deep into the cutting board, sticking straight up. "I know you aren't him!" he yelled. Just like his husband Sanji had done weeks ago, he raised a hand to his chest and clenched it over the fabric where his heart was. He shook his head vividly, trying to shake off his overheated emotions. "I believe you, alright? I know you aren't him! So just leave the fuck alone, Zoro! I don't..." he made a noise that sounded like he was choking - on what, the swordsman didn't know. "He didn't hurt me, okay? You misunderstood. So just let it be, and let's get on with life, alright? I just need you to leave me alone right now."

The cook appeared to be calming down. He ran a stressed hand through his hair and breathed deeply, small breaths shaking as they came in. Zoro stepped forward cautiously, sensing that Sanji still had more to say. "If he didn't hurt you...why do you want me to leave you alone?" he asked.

Sanji just shook his head, eyes lowered and waved the swordsman away, but Zoro didn't leave. "Why won't you talk to me?" he pressed.

The time, the cook reacted, looking up at Zoro again with that blatant hate still burning in his eyes, sending spades of pain straight into the swordsman's bloodstream, as though the threat of loneliness could be felt all over his body like the onset of disease. "Because it's not you that I want, bastard!" he screamed. He ripped a knife from the cutting board and threw it, a straight and accurate shot, headed directly for Zoro's heart. Out of instinct, the swordsman dodged it, and it embedded itself in the wall behind him.

Zoro looked at Sanji, fuming with rage. He was confused, lost, and didn't understand anything except for the profound loss that he felt. He looked at the knife in the wall and fell for a moment that it had actually plunged into his flesh. The blade was ruthless and undeniable, a sign of how the cook felt about him now. He sighed and let his hands fall at his sides, feeling defeated for the first time, and he realized what he was about to do. The swordsman was about to surrender. He stuffed his useless hands in his pockets and felt his own back slouch in shame and loss, and turned toward the door.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled toward the cook. And then he left, the galley door swinging shut behind him, and made his way to the aft of the ship, ignoring the broken sobs that he could hear, muffled through the wood of the ship, but still clear, each sound that the weeping cook made tearing a new wound in the love he had for Sanji. Somehow, he had been given a taste of heaven, seen the light, so to speak, but now he was in a place far worse than before. Here, on the Thousand Sunny, his relationship with the cook was broken beyond repair, and for once in his life, Zoro just didn't feel strong enough to fight for it.

ZOSAN

It was Luffy who found him. It was later, Zoro didn't know how much, but perhaps mid-afternoon, when he awoke to the large, round face of his captain inches from his nose, peering at him like he was some sort of curious creature.

"You're back," the rubber man said simply.

Zoro nodded. He felt like he lacked the energy to do anything more drastic. He didn't even care even to ask what mess he had left behind in the galley with the cook, didn't even wonder how many meals he had missed. He just wanted to go back to sleep. His body seemed to have rejected his sorrow in place of apathy, rotting his bones and muscles to jelly, leaving him incapacitated and weak.

"You look like shit." the man above him commented. Zoro just nodded again. The captain crouched in front of his swordsman and took his face in his rubber hands, looking him dead in the eyes. Zoro met his glare and found that Luffy's look was searching, demanding. He scoffed, a cynical sound he had never heard from the happy rubber man, and turned Zoro's face aside, as if finding him lacking.

"I'm mad at you," he said, as though he were commenting on the weather, but the stiffness in his pose betrayed him, bespeaking of the actual anger that was lying underneath his calm facade.

"What happened?" Zoro asked. He sounded lifeless, as though speaking was just obligatory for him. Luffy frowned.

"Well, a lot," he said. "But that's not why I'm mad." He leaned on the railing beside Zoro and looked out at the sea. "Sanji's still crying," he commented. "He's with Robin, in the girl's cabin. But that's not why I'm mad, either." He shifted from foot to foot. "Although it's probably your fault, but you are crying, too," he shrugged.

"I'm not crying," Zoro said. He touched his cheek to check. No wetness there.

Luffy looked at him like he was a child caught in a horrible fib, which was pretty ironic coming from a boy who believed everything Usopp said. "Maybe not from your eyes," he said. He tapped Zoro's chest, and the swordsman understood what the rubber boy was implying. Crying in his heart, was he? Perhaps.

"So why are you mad at me, Luffy?" he asked dully. "If not because I hurt Sanji."

The rubber boy reached up and gripped the edge of his straw hat tightly, lowering it over his brow to cast a shadow on his eyes. "Because you're a coward, Zoro." He looked down at the swordsman, and for a moment, Zoro recalled the tremendous power and might that their captain possessed, the infinite wisdom that he so desperately believed hid deep within his pure and unyielding soul. In that moment, he looked like a man who was already king of all the free world, the seas merciless beneath his feet. "I don't allow cowards in my crew."

Then, without missing a beat, Luffy dipped down and smiled straight in Zoro's face, tugging playfully at his ear, and said, "But I believe in you!" And he scampered off, not giving Zoro the slightest opportunity to comment, leaving the swordsman alone on the deck again, captured by his own thoughts.

A coward?

Zoro stood and went to collect his katanas and realized they weren't there. That wasn't like him. No, that wasn't like him at all. He was going to get his swords and then he was going to set that crying, pussy of a shit cook straight.

Even if it meant failure, even if it meant death, he wasn't going to let this go without a fight. He wasn't going to give up on any battle, on the field of war or otherwise. He strode into the cabin and fetched his katanas, and as Wado settled on his hip, he could almost feel the presence of Kuina next to him. It comforted him, and it gave him strength. He had made a vow to be the greatest swordsman in the world, and he couldn't go about doing that by living in this undignified manner, hiding from a man who was hurting because of him, avoiding and wallowing in his own feelings. He was stronger than this, and he refused to be a coward, he refused to back down...

Zoro paused before the door to the girl's cabin. For the first time since the morning, he could hear the cook again, from behind the door. It was a deep, keening noise, a noise that Zoro felt was impossible to have come from the cook's mouth. Beyond it, he could hear Robin's whispers.

"Oh, cook-san," she said softly, "I know."

"Fuck, Robin-chan," he said, and it sounded like it was coming from gritted teeth. "Just why would he do this? I shouldn't have give in...I shouldn't have trusted..." His words broke apart again, and Zoro knew he had fallen back into his own silent sobs, pads of his hands pressed over his eyes, biting his lip to keep the shameful sounds at bay - a crying he had, unfortunately, become accustomed to seeing.

Zoro waited for a moment, and then shrugged off his fear. Just like when he was bringing tea to his hus - to New York Sanji in his bedroom, he felt anxious, unsure, but he was going to barrel right into the situation regardless, because it was Sanji in there. And husband or not, lover or not, he cared for the man, and he'd be damned if he let the man he cared for hurt because of him and do nothing about it.

The swordsman opened the door, steady and sure, not too gingerly but not with unnecessary force. Robin looked up from where she was, rubbing the cook's back tenderly as he lay on the bed, palms over his eyes. Her eyes narrowed from above the bridge of her sharp, dramatic nose. "Swordsman-san," she said. She sounded dangerous. He was being accused of something that was left unspoken.

At the sound of the introduction, Sanji removed his hands from his eyes and sat up. He growled and wiped away the stray tears, immediately assuming a forced state of calm and a visage of bravado. For a second, the swordsman was confused, for he had seen Sanji broken and crying before, he had seen the deepest corners of the man's soul, so why would he hide from him? But then he recalled that this was not the same Sanji - this was the Sanji who he had been begrudging allies with, caring for the man but never expressing, and certainly not sharing heart-to-hearts in bed at night. This Sanji still felt the need to hide from him, to act tough, to express that he was not weak, not pathetic, to show that he could carry his own weight as a pirate on the sea.

"Robin," Zoro said. It was a request for her to leave. She stood and did so silently, but Zoro could feel the killing intent rolling off of her like poisonous fumes as she left and closed the door quietly behind her.

"This has nothing to do with you," Sanji snarled.

"I doubt that," Zoro said, and he moved and sat on Nami's bed, removing his swords and setting them beside him.

"Not everything is about you, bastard," the cook insisted. His voice still sounded heavy from all the congestion he had built up while crying. "And don't you dare say a fucking word about this," he gestured to his state of being right now, "or I'll kick you ass, so help me God."

"Stop pretending, Sanji," Zoro sighed. He ran his sweaty palms down the length of his thighs. "Stop acting ashamed, it just pisses me off. You wear your heart on your sleeve, I know. It's not unmanly to cry if you have to."

"What?" Sanji said, softly. "You sure you're pirate Zoro?"

"Going Merry, Sky Island, Thriller Bark, Vivi and the Davy Back Fight," Zoro responded. "I don't think the other Zoro would know about that, right?"

Sanji shrugged. "Guess it is you."

A heavy silence fell between them, as both men looked at the floorboards, casting their glances anywhere but up at each other. Eventually Zoro sighed and steeled himself, saying, "You don't want to talk, I know. Neither do I."

"Then why are you here?"

Zoro groaned. "Because we're nakama. I can't have you hating me!"

Sanji's left hand scrambled for a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and lit it, as if accepting Zoro's invitation into the conversation. "I don't hate you," he stated simply.

"What else should I have assumed?" Zoro asked. "You looked like you wanted to rip my head off."

"I always want to rip your head off."

"I meant for real!" He clenched the fabric of his pants in his hands, trying to remind himself to keep his voice down. "I mean you looked like you really hated me."

"Well, I don't," Sanji said, short and blatant.

"Well, good," Zoro snapped back, as though it were an insult.

Silence fell again. The only movement in the room was Sanji lifting the smoke to his lips and then letting it fall away again, puff after puff as time ticked on. Zoro had nothing more to say, but everything still felt so unresolved, so tense, that he knew if he left now, that this mess would just be dragged out longer.

"What was I like there?" the cook asked eventually.

Zoro looked up at the man sitting across from him, still in his rumpled clothes from this morning. Same blond hair and blue hair, same serious expression and same cigarettes. The man that Zoro had made love to only hours ago was a different man, he knew that now, but it was uncanny how alike the two of them were. It was as though they possessed the same soul, just harkened to different places.

"Pretty much the same," he replied honestly. "What about me?"

Sanji shifted uncomfortably. "At first I thought you were the same." He took a drag from his smoke, considering his next words carefully. "But you were different."

The fear settled in Zoro's heart again. "How was I different?" he pressed.

Sanji sighed. "It's stupid, don't worry about it," he dismissed the question.

"Tell me," the swordsman insisted. "Just tell me what he did to you, or this'll never be resolved. Let's just get it out of the way now."

The cook scowled. "Get my feelings out of the way," he scoffed, "real nice, marimo." He crossed his arms over his chest, unconsciously defensive, and Zoro glared at the action with distaste.

"So he didn't hurt you, you say?" he asked.

"Not a scratch," Sanji said.

"Then what's that hickey from?" Zoro reached forward and pressed his fingers along the bruise on the cook's neck, moving so quickly that the cook couldn't bat him away.

Sanji slapped a hand over Zoro's own on his neck as if it were a mosquito that just bit at him. "What makes you think that's from you?" he barked.

The swordsman drew his hand away, taken aback. "Well, because in New York...uh..." he folded his hands across his knees. "He didn't tell you?"

"He didn't tell me a lot, shitty swordsman, because he was just like you!" Sanji fumed. He kept his hand over the hickey on his neck, rubbing at it, trying to erase the mark. "He was tight-lipped and annoying like you always are, and that's the end of it!"

The cook sounded like he really had no idea what their relationship was supposedly like in New York. Zoro felt relief wash through him, and his stance relaxed, glad in the assured knowledge now that the Zoro from the switch and not actually taken advantage of Sanji. But then he thought about the hickey Sanji had covered with his hand, the bruises on his hips, and slowly, the logical absolution of those marks hit him. Of course, it was entirely possible that Sanji had slept with somebody else...he was a good-looking young man...so he hadn't hurt or raped Sanji, the cook just...

Loved somebody else.

Zoro felt a hand automatically reach up to his own chest and clutch over the fabric that lay above his heart, finally understanding why the cook did this so often. It felt almost like he could ease the pain a bit by clenching at the heart underneath his ribcage, if only he could reach it... He considered asking who the lucky lady was, but then realized it would seem out of place and nosy. It wasn't his business who Sanji slept with, because Sanji was his nakama, yes, but not his husband. The cook wasn't his, no matter how much Zoro may want him.

"Then who hurt you?" Zoro gestured to the cook's feet. Sanji looked down at them.

"Oh, this is from slave traders," he said.

"What?" fell from Zoro's mouth, but the cook didn't explain, and simply pressed on.

"The one on my back is from bounty hunters. They were going to cut your slow ass, but I pushed you out of the way and took it for you, so you owe me for...I'd say forever." He smiled, teasingly, but the swordsman wasn't taking the bait.

"What?" he repeated. "He...what?"

"That mad that your double lost your free sake supply for you or something?" Sanji asked playfully. "Cat's got your tongue?" Zoro fumbled for words, zoning in on the awful red marks on the cook's feet, the feet he fought with...

"Slave traders wanted to sell me to some royalty or something, but we beat them off. They just nailed my feet down to secure me, that's what these are from. You did come to get me, but I busted out before them." The cook was grinning widely now from behind the smoke of his cigarette. "Apparently they have a Vivre Card of me, though, so they may be back. I've heard I'm the hottest thing on the market. Jealous, marimo, that they didn't want a moss head like you?"

Zoro clenched his fists so hard his fingernails dug into his palms and nearly drew blood. "Why couldn't he..."

"Why couldn't he what, shit swordsman?" Sanji pressed.

"Why couldn't he protect you?" Zoro roared, reaching up and threading his hands into his short, green hair, tearing at it desperately, incessant rage and frustration rattling deep in his bones. "I protected what he loved, so why couldn't he -" he choked, gripping his temples and bringing his head down to his knees. "Why didn't he protect you?"

"I protect myself, shitty marimo, I always have," Sanji said. "What's the deal?"

Zoro stood up, disregarding the cook's comments. He gathered his katanas and slipped them into his haramaki. "Who are these slave traders? Why do they want you?"

Sanji shrugged. "Some guy, don't get all worked up. If they come back, we'll kick their ass, that's the end of it."

"Why do they want you?" Zoro repeated. "Your bounty is too high. You would be worth more if they just turned you in. It makes no sense."

The cook fiddled with the new cigarette he was pulling from his pack. "Yeah, well, that was embarrassing. They wanted me to sell to some perverted royal shit as a plaything."

"Plaything?" Zoro echoed. He stopped his pacing. "What?"

"Come on, you aren't naive like Luffy. You know what I mean like that. They said that they wanted..." he muttered the last bit, "a blue-eyed, lean, blonde thing." He scowled, lighting his cigarette. "Like me."

The hickeys, the bruises, the marks...oh no. Sanji had been raped. His worst nightmare had already been realized in his absence. In its scabbard, Sandai Kitetsu rattled, begging to be set free. He placed a hand on the hilt to still its bloodlust. _Soon_, he promised it. "I'll skin them alive," he said. His voice sounded alien to his own ears, deep and demonic and low, full of control and promise of death. It was his battle voice, and had no place in the girl's cabin having a talk with Sanji, but he couldn't control it, he couldn't keep it at bay. He looked away from the cook, too ashamed to look at the marks on him, too disgusted with himself for not being here to protect him, too enraged by the thought of another person laying their hands on the cook, their lips on his skin, their dirty fingers playing across his perfect, lean chest, holding his powerful hips...

"Why are you so worked up?" Sanji asked. He puffed languidly, leaning back on the bed. "I'm the one who should be pissed some old pervert wants me."

Zoro moved swiftly. One moment he was across the room, facing the door with blackened eyes. The next, he was in front of Sanji, kneeling between the cook's legs, and gripping the man's face in his hands, his fingers deep in the roots of Sanji's golden hair. He shook him roughly, and the cook's bright blue eyes shined down on him in shock. "I failed you," he said. "As nakama, I failed you by not protecting you. I won't do it again."

Sanji gulped, but did not pull back. "As nakama?" he asked.

_No,_ Zoro wanted to say. _It's because I love you, it's because I want to be the only one who touches you like that, it's because my outlook on life has changed and you are everything to me, it's because you are the most precious thing in this whole fucking world, it's because you're my treasure._ But he just nodded, watching with curious eyes as the cook's face fell, repeating, "Nakama."

_A/N: Well that was awkward. I hope you guys like this chapter better than I do, because I sort of dislike it strongly. Read and review, please. _

_Oh, and why didn't Zoro ask Sanji why they were sharing a hammock? Probably because it'd be awkward, and Zoro avoids awkward. That's my theory anyway. I tried to write him asking it, but it just didn't feel right. Just like why I have Sanji playing dumb..because he doesn't want Zoro to know that he willingly slept with his New York form...because he's stupid and Sanji-like, that's why_.

_And no, there will be no actual rape in this fiction. It's not something I'm ready to write about at this point in my life. Just know that I don't take it lightly, and I'm sorry if I offended anybody by mentioning it, but I felt like it was what Zoro would have assumed from what evidence was presented to him._


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece, and I don't know if I even know if I own happy ending anymore, either. Sorry, guys**.

Zoro woke up feeling like every bone in his body had been massaged to satisfaction. The kinks in his back from sleeping on the deck and in hammocks for days were gone, and he sensed he was stretched out languidly on a warm, heavenly surface. The soft light of the beginning of the day was bleeding through his eyelids, staining his vision a golden yellow. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and saw the head resting on his chest - Sanji. Their fingers were clasped, still holding hands throughout their sleep.

_Perfect_, he sighed. He never wanted to get up.

And then he heard it - a loud, blaring horn from a taxi cab many floors below, on the bastard pavement of New York City. His eyes flew back open and he looked around the room wildly. A queen sized bed, a walk in closet, his reading glasses and Sanji's ashtray. And on his chest, the same man he fell asleep with last night, right?

Wrong. The hand he was holding had a small golden band on the ring finger, and Zoro knew that on the inside there was an inscription of their wedding date. It was his husband. He was in New York City. He was home, and it was all an awful, horrible dream.

He lightly untangled his fingers from Sanji's own, and threw his feet over the side of his bed, pushing himself to stand. He gave one passing glance back at the cook he left on the covers, looking so serene and satisfied, and made his way easily to the front room. He opened the drapes on the window, looking out at the city below him. He never particularly liked the city, and only came here for the basis of his work. Zoro had always been a person who enjoyed nature, and he felt a slight pang in his heart with the knowledge that he would miss the ocean and that ridiculous boat that he had imagined up in his addled mind.

Letting the drapes slip between his fingers, Zoro made his way back to the coffee table, where he found his cell phone and wallet and keys sitting there, much the same as they had always been. He opened his wallet and looked at the two pictures inside, both Kuina and Sanji, the two people he held closest to his heart, before closing it and shoving it in his back pocket. Pulling a jacket over his shoulders, he made his way to the door.

According to what he remembered since that fanatical dream, it was now a Friday, and Sanji had a long day of work ahead of him. He knew it was just a dream, but for some reason, the thought of loosing Sanji...the image of him lying in his own blood - it was all too much for him to bear. He was overcome with the most desperate need to prove to the cook how much he truly loved him, whether through some silly gesture or simple words, he didn't know.

But he knew what to start with. He was going to buy flowers - the one thing he couldn't buy Sanji in that stupid dream, because flowers just weren't for pirates, were they? But Sanji, his husband, loved flowers, and he was going to buy a giant, overdone bouquet of them until the cook scoffed at him for a whole week. He was going to kiss him in public until Sanji kicked his nose into his skull, and he was going to make love to him until they melted into the bedsheets one night, never to rise again.

The thought of these things made Zoro irrationally happy as he made his way down to the garage, where their car was parked. He jangled the keys incessantly in his hand, anxious for everything, excited to finally be where he belonged. The swordsman was so wrapped up in his little world that it nearly sounded like the crashing of a tidal wave when he got into the car and sat down on something that made the most unpleasant _crackle_.

Zoro shifted in his seat, reaching underneath himself, and pulled loose the paper that he had sat on. _Odd_, he thought. Sanji would kill him if he left the car a mess like this. He looked toward the passenger seat and dashboard, and saw a dozen other papers scattered around in the same manner - tossed, crumpled, mistreated, torn.

Slightly bemused, but otherwise not concerned, Zoro gathered the papers and pamphlets in his hands, making to shove them into a manila folder that he found on the passenger side floor. His eyes flittered curiously over the titles as he unraveled one piece that had been crunched into a tight ball.

_A Guide to Adoption in the 21st Century_, it read. He smiled lightly, pushed it inside the envelope. It reminded him of the appointment Sanji and him had sometime soon, in a week or two, with an adoption agency. It was just an information session of sorts, but he was excited to begin to plot out their future together. Finally having gathered everything, he took the folder and set it down kindly on the seat next to him, briefly reaching the black lettering on the front of the flimsy manila: _Adoption Information Session, April 19th._

Yes, that's when they were going - the nineteenth. He put his keys in the ignition, turned the engine on, listened to it hum, and placed the car in drive.

And then he placed the car back in park.

Zoro pulled out his cell phone from his back pocket and looked at the little date written in white in the corner.

April 20th.

He tapped the phone lightly against the steering wheel, trying to shock it back into reality. Zoro pressed the screen again and looked at the date.

April 20th.

He looked at the piles of torn and abused adoption papers. The swordsman didn't believe it; he needed evidence. It took him a good minute to free his wallet from his back pocket with how severely his hands were shaking, but finally he managed to unearth it. And there, slipped behind the picture of Sanji, was a tiny, white strip of paper, on which was printed the a deadly promise, a Chinese fortune.

_A switch will be made..._

"Fuck," he whispered to himself. "Fuck, fuck, this is just a bad joke, right?" He took his phone and ran through the address book nervously, looking for some indication, somebody who would believe this ridiculous crap, somebody who could help him. Eventually he paused on a name and clicked on it, listening to it ring.

"Zoro?" a sleepy voice answered on the second ring.

"Luffy," he gasped. "Um...what day is it?"

A crackled moan sounded from the other end of the line, and he heard the young man roll over. "I don't know," he whined. "Not Sunday. I get a big breakfast on Sunday. So it's one of those other days."

Zoro sighed heavily. This was a lost cause. "Okay, sorry I woke you, I'm just having a weird morning, that's all."

"Don't care," Luffy responded, already sounding like he was waking up. "I need to get up early and start eating anyway. I gotta get as much meat in as I can if we're gonna kick those asses soon."

"Kick what asses, Luffy?" Zoro asked, sounding exasperated. He needed to get off the phone with the boy and find out what was going on in the real world.

"Um...I don't know. Those human traffic people. The ones who tried to shoot Sanji."

False memories flashed through Zoro's brain - the slave traders on the island, Sanji's bleeding feet, the demands of getting him as a plaything, the constant worry that somebody would take the cook away from him. But that wasn't here, that wasn't real - so what was Luffy talking about? "I don't know what you're talking about, Luffy."

"Stupid Zoro, you know -" All of the sudden, Luffy stopped talking. There was dead silence at the other end, except for the sound of the young man breathing.

"Luffy?" Zoro asked.

"You sound different.." Luffy said quietly. "By different, I mean the same."

"It's me, Luffy," Zoro said. "I'm not messing with you, I'm just tired, that's all."

"No..." It was clear that the man was trying to put something together in his head, and was having difficulty going about it. If Luffy was actually thinking, and not moving on instinct, this could take a while. "No, I know you're Zoro, but you sound like the Zoro I know."

"Of course I do!" Zoro slammed his hand down on the wheel in frustration. "How many other people do you know by the name of Zoro?"

Luffy chuckled to himself. "Just you, idiot! I meant the other Zoro, the pirate that was living in your body."

The car seemed to get colder. Zoro reached out and laid one hand on the manila folder, as if confirming its presence. "I want you to tell me what you're talking about, Luffy," he whispered in a deadly tone. "And I want you to try to be as clear as possible." He paused. "Please."

"There was a pirate in your body named Zoro. He was like you, but he wasn't you. He made Sanji sad."

Zoro could not have asked for a worse explanation. "So it wasn't a dream?" he asked, speaking aloud to himself.

"Did you really switch, ne, Zoro? Were you a pirate on the ship that other Zoro talked about?" Luffy's voice got louder as his excitement built. "Was I the captain and made of rubber? And was Chopper a reindeer? Please tell me! Zoroooo!"

But the swordsman wasn't listening. He was grasping the manila folder roughly now, nearly tearing all of the papers in two, crumpling them even farther, his face scrunched up just like the items in his hands - it wasn't a dream, he was on a pirate ship, and worst of all, somebody else was in his body, in his life, and ruining everything. Why were these papers scattered everywhere? What human traffickers? What did Luffy mean that his husband almost got shot?

"I gotta go, Luffy, I'll tell you later," he said shortly into the receiver, before swiftly clicking off the phone. He leaned forward, burying his face in the wheel, gritting his teeth, trying to contain his anger.

He growled, a deep sound from the base of his chest. "What the fuck happened?" he demanded from the thin air. "What the fuck did you do, you stupid pirate son of a bitch?" He twirled the ring on his finger anxiously, feeling it slip loose quite easily, too easily. "If you ruined my life, I'll kill you...I swear, I'll kill you..."

But there was no response. The air remained silent, lacking of the magic that had created this hell, unyielding and leaving him with a mess of papers to pick up. He cursed, pulling the keys from the ignition, and leaving the papers in the car as he ran back to the stairs that ran up toward their room. "Sanji..." he murmured. "Sanji, please..." he thought of the pirate he had held in his arms the other night, the blond man he thought was his husband but actually wasn't. A stranger - he had loved a stranger in place of the man he had vowed himself to.

"Forgive me."

ZOSAN

Zoro was sitting at the counter, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. He took a gulp and shook his head as it burned down his throat and settled, acidic in his stomach. It had been like this for nearly three hours now. He considered calling somebody else, finding out what was going on, but he still remained there, in shock, going over and over the events on the ship in his mind. More than this, he figured he owed it to his husband for him to be the one who told him everything, since he would know best. And also, the first thing he needed to do was at least try, somehow, to set things right.

The image of the pirate Sanji moaning below him as he thrust into him swam into his vision, and he closed his eyes, taking another swig of alcohol. Setting things rights sounded like a whole lot of impossible right now.

It was with dread in his heart that he finally heard the cook rise from bed and stumble into the bathroom, half-asleep still. He listened as the man did his business, waiting with shaking and cold fingers. Eventually the blond emerged from the bathroom and paused in the doorway to the main room.

"Morning, marimo," he said, his voice low and husky from just waking. "Want to tell me why your trying to drown yourself at 10 AM?"

Zoro just sighed, throwing a hand out toward the couch. "Sit down, Sanji. I need to talk to you."

The cook groaned, as though he was expecting this. "Let me get my cigarettes first," he said. "I hate it when people fucking say that. It never means anything good." He got his back from the counter and sat down on the couch, lighting up, and Zoro moved to joined him, taking one last sip from the bottle before he sat down.

"Sanji, I've been trying to think up a way to tell you this all morning, but -"

"Hold on," the cook said. He took another drag, and leaned back, closing his eyes. "Okay, I'm ready. Lay it on me." The blond looked like he was tensing himself to have a bullet pried from his chest sans anesthesia. It wasn't that far off from the truth either.

"Okay, well," Zoro tried to figure out what to do with his hands, but just let them fall on his thighs, useless. He glanced unconsciously at the white sword on the wall, as if begging the lost soul of Kuina to lend him strength. There was no reply. "I cheated on you, Sanji."

The cook didn't respond. He lifted his cigarette to his mouth slowly, took a drag, and lowered it again. The room grew quiet, the only sound the madness of the city below.

"Did you hear me?" Zoro asked again. His voice sounded nervous, and he could hardly even care how pathetic it came out. He needed some reaction - he needed to cook to hit him, scream at him, do _something_.

"I heard you," Sanji replied. "Could you give me a minute?"

"Sure," Zoro muttered.

The man reached out blindly toward the coffee table, eyes still closed, until his hand grasped the neck of the whiskey bottle. He took a deep drink, smacked his lips, and then raised it again, and began to chug with the bottom of the glass facing straight into the air.

"Hey, you're gonna get sick -" the swordsman started.

The cook ripped the bottle from his lips with a rough smacking sound. "Shut the fuck up," he snarled. "Do you know what hell I've been through lately? You don't get to lecture me." He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and slammed the bottle down on the table. "Who?" he asked. "This isn't about Saga, right?"

"What?" Zoro echoed. "No, I don't even know how you know that guy..." he recalled a young man with silver hair he used to train with back in Japan. "No, you see, I don't know what's been happening here, but I've been - okay, this is going to sound crazy - I've been on a pirate ship, and now -"

"Nope," Sanji cut in. "No, shut up. Don't care. Do not give a fuck."

"Oi!" Zoro called, getting frustrated. "Can you stop it with the attitude, I'm trying to explain this to you! This is really confusing for me as well! One day I'm here, and the next I'm on a pirate ship with rubber men and now I'm back here again, but a dozen or so days have passed and I have no clue what happened."

Sanji still hadn't opened his eyes yet. "So you aren't pirate Zoro anymore?" He unconsciously fiddled with the ring on his finger. "What's our anniversary?"

"May 25th," Zoro answered automatically.

"And what did we do for our anniversary last year?"

"A cruise," Zoro said. "How long is this interrogation going to last?"

"What was the last night you remembered? Here, that is?"

Zoro sniffed. "We went out to that chinese place. I got that weird fortune."

"Okay," Sanji whispered. He ran his hands up and down his thighs, trying to get his blood back in them. "Okay, I see. The world has gone bat-shit crazy, and God hates me. I get it."

"Stop being so dramatic!" Zoro insisted. "We need to talk about this! While I was there...I...I cheated on you Sanji! Look, I'm not proud of it, but it happened, and we can't just - I won't just let it go like this..."

"I'm not going anywhere!" Sanji responded shrilly.

The swordsman leaned back on the couch. "Okay, I'll just...I'll just get my things, and I'll move into Ace's place for now, I'll give you space, but I want to talk about this eventually -"

And that was when a bottle of whiskey broke itself open on Zoro's face. Or rather, Sanji had leaned forward from the table, grabbed it by the neck, and flung it into his husband face, leaving the man dazed, bleeding from his brow, and drenched in alcohol. The swordsman blinked and wiped away the liquid, making out in his vision the sight of the cook standing in front of him now, cigarette smoking, clamped between his teeth, his eyes a burning clarity of...

Hate? Was that hate? Oh, fuck - Zoro couldn't breath. He couldn't think. The world had gone deafeningly silent. This is what death is like, he recalled many moments on the precipice of it. Did loosing the one you love feel just the same?

"I told you I'm not going anywhere, you fucking idiot!" Sanji screamed. The words landed in Zoro's chest like lead bullets, and he just sat back and took it, powerless to do anything, unable to stop it.

Sanji's hand reached down and grabbed the swordsman's neck, pulling his face up until it met his own, so he was forced to look straight into those hate-filled eyes. Hate that was bleeding over, hate that was falling down in heavy tear-tracks down the cheeks of that beautiful face.

"I don't want a shitty divorce, and I don't what you to leave."

"What?" Zoro gasped weakly.

The cook's hand swiped the blood off his husband's brow. "Don't you get it? I'm as mad as fuck, I hurt like a son of bitch, and you broke my heart a thousand times, shitty swordsman." He cursed, looking away for a moment. And then with two hands, he grasped the swordsman's face, bent down, and slammed their lips against each other.

"I need you right now, Zoro."

The swordsman didn't kiss back, but only because he was too shocked to, not because he didn't desire the taste and feel of his lover's lips. Not just his lover, but a bond so much deeper than that - a best friend, a person who has always been there, and a person who will always be there. Sanji, the man he had a history with, the man he had a future with, the man who for some reason was genuinely interested in his life, and the man he wanted desperately to protect, the man he wanted to make happy, the man he loved seeing laugh and smile, the only man he wanted to hold him if he should ever cry...

Cry? Zoro didn't cry. He had only cried a handful of times in his short yet violent life, and he had almost forgotten what it felt like. It was with his drunken, numbed fingers that he touched his cheek and found wetness there - a salty wetness, not from the blood, but from tears, pouring freely down his face, with all the shame of a newborn child. It began deep down, like the rising of an earthquake, but he felt his strong body begin to shake. His lungs didn't have enough air, his shoulders couldn't seem to stay still, and he was crying, no, _sobbing_, for God's sake, he was weeping like a broken soul.

And there were arms - long, lean arms that wrapped around his body, holding his shaking shoulders in place, holding the falling apart pieces of him together. He buried his face into the blurred-looking neck for support, and once the limbs that encircled him squeezed and held tight, a loose and awful sound ripped from his throat. A wail, a shameful and open cry. And as quickly as it left him, the pain seemed to escape, tumbling from him like poisoned blood sucked from a wound, leaving him weakened, but alive, cured, free.

Sanji, the cook, the man who was no weaker but certainly cried more, since he was more open with his emotions, was not shedding a tear in this moment. "This is so messed up," Zoro choked out. "Why am I crying? You should - I mean, I cheated on you - I don't deserve -"

"Shut up," Sanji muttered. "I know, I know, shut up." He rubbed Zoro's back methodically. "Besides, I'm all cried out. It's quite the mess when a pirate wakes up where your husband should be, right?"

"Tell me about it," Zoro chuckled.

Sanji pulled away from Zoro as the swordsman's shaking subsided. "Just so you know, you've officially gotten me to believe in this magic switching bullshit," he said, lighting up a new cigarette. "Because there's no other good explanation now, besides the reasoning that we've all gone crazy." He stood, walked the to the kitchen, and fetched a white towel, handing it to Zoro. "Here, put pressure on that gash, it's pretty nasty." He paused for a moment, and threw out a nonchalant, "Sorry."

"Heh," Zoro snorted. "Deserved it." He pressed the rag into the wound, feeling it grow damp with blood. It was rather shallow, but on his head, so it was likely to bleed for quite some time. His head felt heavy and stuffy from the sobbing, but he suppressed the urge to break down again. Sanji clearly wanted to talk with him now.

"So...all that pirate shit he said was real?"

Zoro nodded.

"And was I there?"

Zoro nodded, then shook his head. "Yes, I mean, yes, but no. It was you, but it wasn't you. But you were the same. I can't explain it."

Sanji scoffed. "I think I understand. Remember, I had my own pirate to deal with."

"Fair enough," Zoro said. "So how much did he fuck up things here?"

The cook shrugged. "He drank a lot of your beer."

The swordsman looked around the room. He could find no evidence that the pirate he shared a soul with had done much more, but there was no evidence of physical damage to any of his property. He had woken up next to his husband, still wearing his wedding ring, and from the weightlessness of his ankle, it was clear he wasn't on house arrest. So he supposed it could have been worse.

"Regardless," Sanji said, interrupting Zoro's analysis of his assets, "I haven't forgotten. You said you cheated on me." He took a drag. "I want this out on the table now. The faster we get it out, the more time we have to deal with it."

Zoro's face fell. "It was all very complicated. You see, I thought he was you at times, and at times I knew he wasn't you, but it just felt so _real_, and I missed you so _much_..."

Sanji leaned over and let some ash fall from his cigarette into the tray. "So you slept with the pirate version of me, is that what you're saying?"

The swordsman paused, and then nodded. He closed his eyes.

"Well, that makes two of us."

Zoro opened his eyes, opened them wide, and looked straight at his husband, who was looking back at him with a cocky grin and sick smile. "What?" he asked blankly.

"Makes two of us, I said," Sanji replied. "I'm not proud of it," he explained, "but I can understand how you felt, because I felt the same way. I felt like he wasn't you, but I believed it had to be you, and so...yeah..."

Zoro gulped. "Did you...did you, you know..."

"Did I fuck him?" Sanji finished for him. "Yeah."

"You what?"

"I fucked him." Sanji shrugged. "And he fucked me. I'm sure the same thing went on where you were."

"But - but -"

"I mean, it pisses me off a bit," Sanji gave out a dry, humorless laugh. "But I guess since he's like my alternate universe self, he's probably basically the same as me. It's not like you fell in love with somebody else or something..."

Zoro shot up to his feet. "No!" he yelled. "No, you idiot cook, it's not just _okay_ because you looked the same! He was a pirate, he wasn't you, he wasn't the man I married!" He pointed a shaking finger at the shocked cook sitting before him. "And that pirate bastard Zoro _touched_ you? I fucking - I -" He screamed, running his hands through this hair. "This is so fucked up!"

The cook leaned back and crossed one leg over the opposite knee. "Are you jealous of yourself, marimo?"

"No!" Zoro insisted. "I mean maybe, I mean -" He stepped back, and growled as a piece of glass cut into the bottom of his foot. He stumbled backward a bit, cursing as his husband laughed at him from the couch as he ripped a shard out, leaving a bloody stain behind on the hardwood floors. "Why aren't you more mad?"

Sanji raised two hands in the air defensively. "Don't get me wrong, I'm mad as hell, but it's becoming a lot easier to roll with the punches by now." He held up a hand with downturned fingers. He raised one, "First, I want to decapitate you for working for Smoker behind my back," he said,

_Shit_. Zoro stopped trying to tend to his surface wounds and just stood there, standing like a dumb child caught in the act.

"Second, I want to know what the fuck you were raising money for in secret. Third, your pirate self was a little more open about his insecurities with the whole adoption, so I don't even know what's going to happen in our future anymore..." He held up a fourth finger. "And lastly, you slept with a more exciting, livened version of me, which makes me doubt that you still love me and wonder if perhaps you are longing for the fast life again, trying to escape for the responsibilities you never wanted, especially those of parenthood." By now, his fake jovial face was series, the mask had slipped off, and he was looking Zoro dead in the eye. Cool, calm, collected, and right on beat, Zoro's greatest fears had been realized.

Everything wasn't broken - it was _shattered_.

"Sanji, I -"

"But it's fine, shitty marimo," Sanji cut him off, smiling again, a fake, dead smile with dull eyes. "We'll work it out, right, like we always do?" He sighed, took a drag from his cigarette, and leaned back. "Let's just deal with these human traffickers that are out to kill us right now, okay?"

"Um...what?"

"Oh!" Sanji clapped his hands in mock joy. "I didn't tell you that part yet! The Pirate Hunter killed off a middle man in a human trafficking ring, and now their bosses are sending assassins after us, so we're shutting them down with a cruise ship raid two days from now..." He stood and surveyed, waiting for Zoro to react, but the man just stood there, dumbfounded.

"So, you clean up this glass, and I'll make breakfast," he ordered. "And you can think about how lucky you are that if this goes wrong, you'll have the perfect excuse to never have to adopt kids with me to make me happy, since we'll have a criminal record, right?" And the cook walked away, heading straight the kitchen, the weight of the bitter resentment in his worlds staying behind in the living room with Zoro, surrounding the swordsman like the shards of glass at his feet.

_A/N: Ouch. I have no more words._

_Also, if you like Croc/Doflam, I wrote my one shot of them - check it out, it's called "Good Business", and it is smutty...and may make you feel better. Seeing as this is too heavy. _

_So, I wrote this Sanji as a bit different than the other - he is older, more mature, and a married man. Anyone else who has been in long term relationships should know how cruel and nasty they can get when one's feelings are hurt. So, yeah. _


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: ONE PIECE IS MINE! I AM THE PIRATE KING! YOHOHOHO!**

**No, but not really, not at all...**

It was uncanny how quickly one could become accustomed to simple habits. Zoro found himself staying his hands on numerous occasions, itching to caress a strand of hair from Sanji's face, tempted to hold his gently swaying hips as he chopped vegetables, his lips tingling as they prepared for every kiss that was not to be had. And every time Zoro stopped himself from acting on these instincts, his skin prickled with a cold, unrefined pain, a pain he had come to associate with loneliness and loss.

No matter how much it hurt, there was one thing that hurt more, and that was the sight of Sanji. He was, despite how much Zoro tried to convince himself that they were different, still the same Sanji he was in love with. In fact, perhaps this was the Sanji he was meant to fall in love with from the beginning. The man was so strong, so caring, and held all the same values and temperament as he. Like two pieces fitting together, they filled in each other's flaws with their own assets, and vice-versa, but more than that, the deeper colors that made their personalities them seemed to blend so perfectly in Zoro's eyes. As he watched the cook serve the dishes for dinner, he was overwhelmed with frustration with himself - why hadn't he seen it sooner? Why hadn't he realized how perfect this man was? Why hadn't he pursued him before everything...everything had become as strangled and broken as it was?

There were visual reminders of those brokenness, as well. The scar on Sanji's back, although invisible underneath his clothing, causing the man to keep his arms lower as he brought out dinner platters, so as to avoid aggravating the wound. Because of his feet, the cook walked lightly, stepping primarily on his heels to prevent the stretching of the arc from tearing his scarred skin apart. And the most painful act that Zoro could catch was how carefully Sanji bent over or bent down - his backside was hurting, an obvious sign of aggressive and ill-prepared penetration.

The swordsman's stomach flipped, and he set his fork aside. He didn't want to see it, didn't even want to believe that it had happened, but the thought of someone else's hands on Sanji brought a war of sensations upon him: his blood boiled, his brain short-circuited, his chest ached and the bile in his stomach sloshed belligerently.

"Are you okay, swordsman-bro?" Franky's voice boomed from across the table. "You look like you're gonna be sick."

Zoro swallowed heavily, feeling the acidic substance slid down the back of his throat. "I'm fine," he said hoarsely.

"Perhaps the swordsman had lost his sea legs," Brook commented, poking at Zoro's calves with the blunt edge of his cane. "Yohohoho."

The swordsman in question swatted the purple cane aside, frustrated with the slightest touch. "I'm fine," he repeated, more convincingly.

"Well, I think I speak for everyone here when I say that I'm glad you are back, swordsman-san," Robin commented. "And all together, as well. I'm surprised traversing to an alternate universe didn't liquidate your organs or severely disfigure your skeletal structure..."

"Robin!" Usopp snapped, screwing up his face as he forced himself to swallow his latest bite. "Didn't I tell you not at dinner, _please_?" He shook his head, exasperated, and then picked up his fork and pointed it at Zoro. "But seriously, Zoro, I sure am glad that you are you and everything is right again."

The swordsman made a rough noise of affirmation. He just didn't feel up to tolerating the conversation anymore. He made to shove his plate away, but then he paused, looking down at it with a studying eye. "Grilled lobster..." he murmured.

"Huh? What did you say, Zoro?" Chopper asked from beside him.

"Grilled lobster," he repeated. "Grilled lobster over spanish rice with...orange chipotle vinegar...?" He stuck his fork in his meal and scooped out some, placing it in his mouth, and tasting it carefully. It was the same meal Sanji had made for him, the first dinner he had in New York by the cook - the new meal, the one he wanted his opinion on, the swordsman recalled fondly. He looked up from his plate to see the pirate cook staring down at him, then the plate, then back at him.

"Yeah, that's right," Sanji breathed. He shook his head, dislodging his dumbfounded expression. "Well, it's vinaigrette, not _vinegar_, but yeah, pretty close, marimo-for-brains. Sure you haven't warped your mind, too?"

Zoro shook his head. "No, you - I mean New York Sanji - he made this for me one night while I was there."

Sanji shivered visibly. "That's eerie," he commented.

Luffy smiled at the two of them, chewing on the shell of the lobster without a care in the world as Usopp tried to yank it from his mouth. "Ne, so Zoro?" he said, spitting flecks of food across the table. "Who made it better?"

Zoro nearly choked - how could he answer that? Sanji was starting at him, no, the entire crew was staring at him expectantly. All in all, they both tasted the same to him, but for some reason he felt inclined to tell Sanji, the Sanji he was with right now, that his tasted better, just to see the smug grin on his face. But that would be lying, and then betraying the man who had made the dish for him originally, with such tender, loving care in New York. His own tongue caught in his throat, his spluttering was interrupted by Nami.

"Don't ask that!" she said, bopping Luffy on the head. "What a stupid question, making him choose like that!"

The captain laughed as he head bobbled to and fro from the impact, a small pink sore appeared where the knuckles had connected, but all the while his eyes were fixated on Zoro, above his fake smile. The eyes were serious, demanding and questioning. _Had the question been serious, then?_ Zoro considered. _Is it possible he thought it out, is it possible Luffy wants me to choose...choose between a Sanji who loved me or a Sanji who is real, the Sanji who needs me now?_

Well, that was a simple enough choice.

"This one is better," Zoro said gruffly, taking another bite from his plate. "Probably fresher lobster," he added as a buffer to the compliment. As he chewed, he looked up at Sanji, who was quietly getting a head start on washing dishes, glancing over his shoulder at him. He smiled at the swordsman softly, and Zoro nearly left his seat without thinking, desiring to place a kiss at the upturned corner of the cook's lips. Instead, he sat, watching Sanji turn back around, saying nothing, and leaving the crew to their meal.

In contrast to that peaceful moment at the dinner table, Zoro slept awfully that night - or rather, not at all. He kept his eyes fixated on the hammock beside him, watching the shadow tumble throughout the night, captivating with the curve of the other man's hip, the way his hands cupped his own head in his sleep. He watched Sanji sleep and laid there, hot and uncomfortable, until the sun rose, and he deemed it a fit time to start lifting his weights. He did not notice the cook's eyes open as he left the room that morning. He did not turn back, and couldn't turn back. For the sake of his crew, for the sake of his goal, for the sake of Sanji, he knew he needed to stop hanging on to something that wasn't there, no matter how desperately he wanted it to be.

For he had learned at a young age that no matter how much one may want something, that is only part of the battle. The rest of it is hard work and a little bit of luck. Luck, the one thing that New York Zoro must have had, but Roronoa Zoro, Pirate Hunter, knew he was cursed, and cursed men did not get to enjoy true love.

ZOSAN

Sanji wasn't sure how to feel, but the dominating emotion could best be equated to fury. He was irate with New York Zoro, for loving him, for letting Sanji love him back, for being so magnificently caring, so sweet to the touch, so steady and faithful and loving. He was even more pissed at himself, for letting himself fall in love with New York Zoro, for letting himself be swayed by the man's touch, for going over all those fond memories in his head, and most of all, for the longing feelings he now felt for the Zoro he knew.

He knew that he was over-thinking everything that Zoro the Pirate Hunter did. Every small gesture, however mundane, ran through Sanji's head a thousand times - he analyzed each move, wondering _does this mean he feels the same? perhaps he does care? maybe there was always something more there between us? _But then the swordsman would look away, would break off and go to train, would take a nap, and Sanji knew that having a man to love him was too much to ask for in this life. After all, wasn't he the blond cook who was constantly rejected, the image of unrequited love? Why should falling in love, real love this time, with a man, nonetheless, make any difference? After all, this was Roronoa Zoro, a classless brute and pirate. He did not fall in love, and especially not with a prissy blond cook like him.

But it just made him so _mad_ - he cursed as he slammed the tenderizer too hard down on a raw piece of chicken. It riled him up just to think of how real those moments with Zoro had felt, how magnificent. He had felt loved, needed, and cared for, and at the same time, he had felt like he could take on the world. Why was he cursed to taste something so wonderful and take it for granted? Why was he doomed to starve? Again and again in his life he had sworn that he would not be wasteful, he would not let opportunity pass him by, because he had once felt the bitter truth of what it meant to go without. And here he was, going through it all over again, except this time it was worse, because this time he could survive. One could live without love, but not without food.

So the torture would be endless, then.

The chicken he was pounding was nearly unrecognizable by this point. He sighed and tossed it aside - that would be for Luffy, then. That boy would eat anything.

The worst part of the entire situation was how Zoro had expressed his grief over his absence. The worry, the fury that he was wounded - it all were signs that he cared. _As nakama_. Yes, of course, Sanji had witnessed that Zoro believed it was his right and duty to give his life for the crew, he had imposed himself as the protector of the Straw Hat Pirates, and nearly died because of it. Of course he wouldn't want his sacrifice to be in vain. Of course he would be concerned over Sanji. Because they were nakama, because he did care on an essential level, but not the way that Sanji wanted him to care.

The cook paused his tirade and looked down at his hands, realizing he was wrapping up a collection of rice balls and placing them on a platter. He was fixing a snack for Zoro, because the man was training, and he always brought him a snack after he gave the ladies their afternoon one... a snack, some sake, an insult, and then left. He was so used to the monotonous task that he didn't even realize what he was doing. For a moment, Sanji considered not going, and perhaps giving the food to the boys who were fishing outside, or Franky down in his work shop. Zoro was likely to notice his absence, but he would be unlikely to comment on it, due to his infernal pride.

He shook his head. No, he would bring the food. It was first and foremost his job as the cook of the ship, and secondly, backing out now would be cowardly. And perhaps most importantly, he felt the need to reassure the marimo that their relationship was still okay, despite the fiasco yesterday. He couldn't imagine what the swordsman had thought when he had broken down sobbing. How pathetic and shameful - Zoro had only cried once, and it was when he was on the brink of death, making a vow that meant more to him than the cook could imagine, and here Sanji was, crying over absolutely nothing in the swordsman's eyes. Despite this, Zoro had not mocked him for it, although he could have, and did not even press him to tell him why he was crying. All he had shown was concern - he was too nice, too close to the Zoro that Sanji had fallen in love with, and it grated him all the wrong ways.

With a heavy sigh and some steeling of his composition, Sanji gathered a bottle under his arm and the platter in his hand and headed out of the galley. As he walked across the deck, Robin-chan gave him an encouraging smile from the flowerbed as she watered. The woman had been so kind to him yesterday, never questioned, always understanding, and at one point asking softly if he wanted her to hurt Zoro. He was relieved it was she who stayed by his side rather than Nami-san, because as much as he fawned over Robin-chan, she was more of a mother figure to him and crew than anything else, and he wouldn't have wanted to burden Nami-san with that spectacle.

Entering the crow's nest, he saw Zoro's figure and momentarily had to look away for the flush that it brought to his cheeks. The man was wearing a sleeveless shirt and loose pants, and had shed his haramaki, but through the folds of the clothing, Sanji could still discern the lean ridges of muscle that layered the man's golden skin, curving in all the right places, not too wiry nor too built. He grimaced and set the plate down on a nearby bench.

"Snack," he announced callously. Zoro looked over, his eyes wide, surprised to see him, which was odd, since the swordsman was always uncannily aware of his surroundings. He watched as Zoro placed down the weights he was lifting and reached for a towel, rubbing the sweat off his neck. In his nether regions, the cook felt something twitch expectantly. He squirmed uncomfortably.

"Thanks," Zoro replied honestly. He reached out for the bottle and popped the cap. "Got a glass?" he asked.

"No," Sanji replied. "Why, did you get some manners at the New York place, too? You always drink straight from the bottle."

"Not for me," the swordsman replied. "For you." He shrugged at Sanji's raised curly eyebrow. "I figured we could share a drink and...I don't know, put this all behind us."

It was typical of the swordsman to close the deal with alcohol, but it wasn't a bad idea. It also gave Sanji an excuse to spend a few more quiet moments with him, not surrounded by the crew. The cook was unsure if he was going to get much of any alone time with Zoro ever again, seeing as their relationship just wasn't that focused on seeking time to spend solely with each other.

"That sounds fine," Sanji said. "I can drink for the bottle."

Zoro chuckled. "Did you loose some manners in my absence?" he taunted. "Or just finally man up?"

Sanji felt his lips twitch into a frown. "I'm man enough, marimo, thanks. Just because I don't pound iron all day like the muscle-head you are..."

"It helps clear my head," Zoro responded honestly. He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous gesture. "So..." he lifted the bottle in the air awkwardly, as if to clank it against another invisible one. "We okay?"

"That's your sentiment?" Sanji scoffed. "Yeah, we're okay. We're nakama, dumbass. We're always gonna be okay."

Zoro nodded, and lowered the bottle to his lips and took a swig. As he swallowed, he handed it to Sanji, who raised it to his lips as well. He sipped from it instead, and winced as the liquid burned the back of his throat. It was childish, but he was only drinking to enjoy his lips touching the same bottle as Zoro's...like a second-hand kiss, just one last time.

"I'm glad I'm back," Zoro said, taking the bottle back from Sanji's hands. "It seems like you guys can't take care of anything around here without me."

Sanji snorted, a rather ungentlemanly noise. "What are you implying, asshole?"

"Just that mess with the slave traders..." the swordsman said. He continued to speak as he shoved rice balls in his mouth, but unlike before, Sanji didn't wince at it. He just watched, finding it oddly endearing. "I can't believe those fuckers actually took you." He grimaced for a second, as though he had come across an unfavorable taste in his food. "Although, I suppose I left a mess behind in New York."

The cook's curiosity peaked. "Oh?" he asked. "So you fucked things up in both worlds, is that why they let you come back?"

Zoro shrugged. "I don't think so, but I still can't figure it out. But yeah, I upset some gang of people and they..." his face grew dark, shadowed. "They sent a gunman to our home. Tried to kill you making breakfast."

"I don't like being interrupted in the kitchen," Sanji answered. It irked him slightly to hear about the other version of himself, the one that New York Zoro truly loved, and was probably with right now, living their happily ever after.

"Yeah, you kicked his ass," the swordsman chuckled. He offered the bottle back to Sanji, but the cook pushed it aside. He wasn't about to get tipsy around the marimo again, especially because of what happened last time. But something about the rice wine sparked Sanji's memories to recall the first day Zoro had switched.

"Oi, do you know the code to the fridge?" he asked the swordsman.

Zoro scowled. "No," he snapped. "What kind of -" He paused, and then set down the last bit of rice ball he was raising to him mouth. "I guess the other Zoro did, though, didn't he?"

What was with that jealous tone of voice? "Yeah," the cook answered. "He never told me why I told him, though. Said he _persuaded_ me to tell him, the asshole."

The swordsman laughed, but it was dry and humorless. "I get it now," he muttered to himself. "Ah, well, I guess he deserves him."

The statement was odd, and out of context. It took the cook a minute to pick up on it. "Who deserves who?" he asked.

"It's nothing," Zoro responded, waving the question aside, eating the last of his snack. He handed the platter back to Sanji expectantly, an invitation for the cook to take it and make his leave.

"No, tell me," Sanji insisted.

"It's nothing," the swordsman repeated. He took a swig from the bottle and stuffed the cork back on top. "Hey, are you ticklish?"

"Don't try to change the subject!" he snapped. "And what kind of question is that, marimo head?"

"Just wondering. And stop asking, I won't tell you - it's none of your business."

Sanji crossed his arms over his chest. If there was one social habit he hated in the world, this was it, below bad table manners and being rude to ladies: stringing information in front of him and then not telling him about it. He had a relentless curiosity and he wanted to know what was being held from him, no matter how trivial. "I'll answer your question if you answer mine," he offered, a fitting compromise.

The swordsman considered it. "Fine, you first."

"Yes," Sanji said shortly.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'm ticklish!"

"Oh." Zoro looked out the window for a moment. His arms were across his chest, too, a denfensive movement for him. "I don't know if I am."

"If you are what?"

"Ticklish."

"Who cares?" Sanji fumed. "Answer my question, uphold your side of the compromise."

"I will..." Zoro held up a finger. "On one more condition."

Sanji relented, "What's that?"

"You help me figure out if I am or not."

"If you are what?"

Zoro threw his hands up in the air as if it were obvious. "Ticklish!"

At this, the cook had to take pause. The image of it seemed ridiculous - the greatest swordsman in the world, the stoic and trained Zoro, ticklish? He sincerely doubted it was possibly, and he would feel rather foolish even trying to get a reaction out of the man. "Only if you answer my question first. It's only fair. You added more conditions afterward."

Zoro frowned, but decided that he agreed with the cook. "The other Zoro deserves the other Sanji," he said stiffly. "That's what I was talking about."

Sanji frowned. "That so cryptic. Are you saying that you hate the other Zoro that much?"

The cook watched as Zoro sat down on the bench and folded his hands, lowering his head. "I do hate him," he said. "But he's a good guy, better than me. He deserves that cook, the one I met." He grabbed the towel that was next to him and rubbed the back of his neck with it again, although the sweat had long since dried. Sanji failed to see the purpose behind this statement, but he sensed the tension in the swordsman's shoulders, and thus knew it was important for him to say. He listened in silence, dirty plate balanced on his forearm.

"In that world..." Zoro continued. "We were, um...it was weird, I guess, but we were married." Sanji's heart dropped into his stomach - _he knew_? He felt the swordsman's eyes on him, waiting to see his reaction.

"I know," Sanji said quietly, his voice a lot more in control that he felt.

"Oh," Zoro said. "Yeah, weird, right?"

"Weird," Sanji agreed.

A heavy and awkward silence fell between them. Sanji placed the dish down on the bench again and gathered himself. He crept up slowly besides the swordsman, who was immersed in his thoughts, holding a sweat-stained towel between his fingers, staring at the wooden floor of the crow's nest. With nervous, shaking fingers, the cook reached out experimentally, then drew back, the electricity between their two bodies nearly driving him crazy. Then he lunged forward, plunging in with all he had, and danced his fingertips along the deadly swordsman's sides.

Automatically, Zoro twitched again, and a odd sharp yelp erupted from his mouth. "What the fuck, cook?" he demanded.

"I'm tickling you!" Sanji said, drawing back, feeling a blush rush to his face. "It's what you wanted, right?"

Zoro gingerly reached down and touched his side. "That was...tickling?"

"You've really never been tickled before, have you?" Sanji asked. It was a little sad.

The swordsman shook his head. "If you didn't know me, would you tickle me?"

The cook laughed at the notion. "I don't know if I would have ever done so if you didn't ask, Zoro. I'm just surprised Luffy hasn't gotten to you yet. Where did this even come from?"

Zoro shrugged, still rubbing his side, as though he had been shocked there by the cook's touch. "Some kid," he said softly. "She asked me. I promised her that I'd find out. I can't break a promise."

Sanji scoffed. "You have an odd sense of duty, marimo." He reached out again and dragged his nails across Zoro's side, and the swordsman twitched away again, flicking a wrist to send Sanji aside.

"Stop that!" he snapped. "It feels weird."

"It _tickles_, baka!" Sanji tried not to grin as he reached out and got the man again, on the forefront of his stomach, causing him to yelp another laugh. "That's what happens when somebody tickles you. So I guess that Roronoa Zoro _is _ticklish!"

The cook reached out to tickle him again, but his wrists were caught in the swordsman's iron grip. He cursed, and try to free them, but a second later, his hands were free, but Zoro's hands were elsewhere, on his sides now, tracing careful patterns near his underarms. He wriggled and writhed away, backing up. "Hell no, marimo!" he yelled, pointing an accusatory finger. "I'm not the victim today!"

"Wanna bet?" Zoro said with a predatory grin, and he dived in for another attack, but not before Sanji reached out to counter him, catching the swordsman's bare foot and tickling that. Zoro retaliated quickly, freeing his foot and pinning Sanji underneath him, getting his sides, under his arms, and that odd place on the top of his kneecap. He cursed and tried to roll away, out of breath from the stimulation, but Zoro crawled back over to him, his face a childish mask of glee as he pulled the cook back and tickled him again and again, leaving him completely at his mercy.

"Stop you shitty..." Sanji gasped for air. "Seriously, stop, this is so..." he swatted away at Zoro and thrust his hips, trying to dislodge him. "Undignified!" he whined.

But the swordsman had stopped. He was frozen, eyes wide, looking into Sanji's own. His hands were on each of Sanji's sides, and he was laying across the man.

"Sanji..." he whispered. His name, why was the marimo using his name?

"What?" he asked, trying to analyze the facial expression, but coming up blank.

"Sanji, you..." he shifted, and then the cook felt it. He gasped and his heart nearly fell out of his chest. He was mortified, terrified, and couldn't move. The swordsman had clearly felt it, and how was he supposed to explain this?

"You're hard."

Of course the fucking asshole had to say it aloud.

"Get off of me," Sanji growled. He needed to get out of here, he needed to run away, hide in the kitchen for hours and hope that nobody found him there ever again.

"No," Zoro said stiffly.

"What?" the cook hissed through closed teeth. "Get the fuck off, you bastard, or I'll kill you. What don't you get about that?"

"Why?" Zoro pressed. He didn't move, staying elevated above the cook, his body still pressed up against Sanji's, which wasn't making anything better for him, as Zoro's thigh was pressed in between his legs, providing him with delicious warmth and friction to rub up against if he so desired. "Why should I let you go?" Sanji watched in fear and anticipation as Zoro lowered himself, but it was not for a kiss. He simply moved closer to Sanji's face, and then brushed the hair back from his brow, which made him wince at the sudden exposure of his entire face.

"I need you to tell me the truth, now, Sanji," Zoro said softly, using his name again. "Somebody hurt you, I can tell, so don't even try to lie about it...but something else changed while I was away, didn't it?" The cook didn't respond, couldn't respond. "Tell me, Sanji. If it's nothing, then I'll leave at that forever, and we'll go back to how things were." He ran his fingers through the cook's hair, and it was gentle, the same touch that Sanji had so desperately wanted the past two days. "But if it's more...then please tell me, and...maybe..."

Their lips were close, too close, closer than two peoples lips should be. Sanji could feel the swordsman's breath, the scent of sake, the musk of his sweat, the perfect weight of Zoro's body over his own. He was terrified, he was sick to his stomach, and he was speechless, but as the swordsman grew closer, all he could think about was that touch - those strong fingers that were callused from grasping the hilts of katanas, now so gentle in his hair, touching him like he was ...a treasure. A pirate and his treasure, a man and the sea.

"OI!"

The two men drew away from each other, as though disgusted, horrified. Zoro rolled off and sat facing Sanji as they listened to the voices from below.

"PAY ATTENTION ZORO!" Nami screamed from below. "SHIP TO STARBOARD, AND THEY DON'T LOOK FRIENDLY!"

Sanji jumped to his feet and ran to the nearest window, looking at the ship that was approaching them, the ships cannons already breaking out into the open. He snatched the scope and looked at the tiny people on the approaching vessel, and then dropped it, listening to it clatter on the floor.

"What is it, cook?" Zoro demanded from behind him. "What's wrong? Marines?"

"No," Sanji gasped. "It's them, the slave traders." He tried to deny the fear that settled in his heart, the cold and icy grip, the feel of a thousand spiders on his skin. "They've come back for me."

_A/N: Well that escalated quickly. By the way, tickle sounds funny if you say it too much. Tickle tickle tickle._

_It's 5 AM and I haven't slept. Hope this doesn't suck, because my brain isn't here. At all._


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. Oda owns One Piece. One Piece is not Luffy's hat. That's dumb. But if it is, I'll love Oda anyway.**

Zoro could only hide in the bathroom for so long. After breakfast, Sanji had shoved him into the shower, telling him to _make yourself look presentable, marimo, everybody is coming over to help us_. So he had taken his time, sitting on the toilet seat and picking shards of glass out of his feet and brow, scrubbing himself down, shaving his face - which didn't look like it had been touched in a good week - and he even put on some of Sanji's aftershave, which stung like a bitch for some reason. He could hear the sound of Luffy and Usopp and many more of his friends in the main room, but he had no desire to face them. After all, he'd have to paint on a facade that everything was alright between Sanji and him, which would make the actual truth that much more painful.

With a deep breath, the swordsman steeled himself and opened the door. In the living room, both Robin and Nami were leaning over, looking at something on the table, both dressed in respectable dress clothes for business women of their stature, rather than the skimpy outfits they wore in the other world. Beside them was a man Zoro had never seen before, a man with a poof of golden hair on the top of his head. He was wearing a purple shirt that was unbuttoned to show the large tattoo emblazoned across his chest, but there was something about him that gave off such an air of seriousness that he seemed to blend in with the tight-lipped businesswomen perfectly.

At the counter sat Luffy, eating, of course, Usopp, Chopper and Ace. Zoro was relieved to see Chopper was back to how he remembered him, small and shaggy-haired, but still part of the human species. Likewise, Brook was a human again, but still tall and skinny as ever, and he was washing dishes in the kitchen with soap suds on his face. The swordsman watched, trying not to smile, as his husband took a rag and cursed at him, wiping off the musician's face with clear exasperation. Lastly, Franky was -

Where was Franky?

Zoro's eyes flickered and caught the large, muscled man bent over - _for God's sake, he already took his pants off? - _their dishwasher, screwdriver in hand, about to...

"Franky, we don't need any modifications, please stop!" Zoro called out across the room, and as he spoke, he regretted it, because everybody's eyes turned to fall on him.

"Ow! Zoro-bro, I was about to make your dishwasher totally super, though!"

Sanji reached down and snatched the screwdriver from the man's monstrous hands. "We're good with a perfectly normal, boring dishwasher, thank you, Franky!" he snapped. Then he looked at Zoro pointedly, and added "Took you long enough, everybody was waiting. You sure are rude, marimo."

The swordsman scoffed, and he looked down as he felt a weight tug at the hem of his jacket. Well below eye level stood Chopper, big brown eyes swimming with worry as he patted Zoro's side. "How are you feeling, Zoro?" he asked. "I was so concerned, I called Doctor Trafalgar and told him about your case, I hope you don't mind - Sanji says you're back to normal but you don't remember the past eleven days - but Doctor Trafalgar a neurosurgeon and maybe he'd be able to -"

Zoro rested his hand on Chopper's head, ruffling his hair, and stopping his rambling. "No, Chopper, I don't want to see any doctor but you. And I'm fine, so stop worrying."

"Don't act like I'm such a good doctor, you asshole!" Chopper sniffed, batting his hand away, and swaying at the compliment. "And just because everything came back doesn't erase the fact that it happened and so I'd really like if you -"

The swordsman shushed Chopper again, this time more forcefully. "Stop it, Chopper, I'm serious. And I'm not seeing Trafalgar. That guy gives me the creeps."

"Fine!" Chopper kicked Zoro's shin, and the swordsman winced before going down on one knee. That little jerk could pack a punch. "Don't die on me, though, you bastard!" he added, before stomping off.

Zoro heard a mysterious little chuckle and looked up from his spot on the floor to see that the ladies were amused with the latest spectacle. He scowled at them both before getting up and walking over. Once by the couch, he raised a hand to the man with golden hair in greeting.

"Nice to meet you, name's Zoro," he said stiffly.

The man looked up at him with a slightly confused expression. "Marco," he said slowly, clasping Zoro's hand. "And um...I'd hate to be rude, but we met just a week ago, remember?"

Zoro sat down across from him in a chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "Did we?"

The man took off his framed reading glasses and polished them on the edge of his shirt. "Ace told me you had memory problems, but I didn't think it'd be this bad, yoi." He shook his head, placing the glasses back on the bridge of his nose. "You going to be okay for the raid?"

The swordsman nodded. "Don't worry about me." His eyes flittered about the room. "But should we talk about this now? I'd rather the others not overhear."

From the side, Robin coughed quietly into her hand. "It would hardly matter," she interjected, "seeing as we're all going to be involved in the raid irregardless."

Zoro stiffened. He studied the woman's face, but as always, it revealed nothing. Beside her, Nami flashed him a weak smile, and Franky, who was settling down beside them, shrugged and nodded the the swordsman. He looked over his shoulder at the crew at the table, who were not paying attention at all, but was comprised off Sanji, Brook, Usopp, Ace, Chopper, and Luffy. They were starting to put chopsticks in their noses again.

"That isn't funny, Robin," he said softly.

"I'm not joking, swordsman-san," she replied just as demurely as before. "Please," she tapped her finger on the table, where Zoro realized what they were looking over: blueprints. "Look here, and we'll give you a run down on the security of the ship. You'll soon understand why we're coming as backup."

Zoro just shook his head, firm and resolute. "No, I don't know what ridiculous shit Sanji or whoever told you, but you aren't getting involved. I'll handle this on my own. You are innocent people, not criminals, and..." Zoro stopped talking, because he heard a deep, mischievous chuckle. He looked about and tried to place where it was coming from, and his eyes fell on...Nami?

"What?" he snapped at her.

"_Innocent people_?" she echoed. "Sanji-kun, I thought you told him!" she called to the kitchen. Sanji looked up from what he was doing - prying his precious chopsticks from Thailand from Luffy's nostrils - and swooned.

"Told him what, Nami my dear?"

"You said you told him about what we did on the side, you know, Sanji," Franky tried to explain. Zoro watched the exchange as horror began to creep into the base of his spine: he figured Ace and Luffy, he could even see Sabo, but the rest of them? No way.

Sanji appeared to wither as Franky spoke. "Ah!" he gasped. "Oh, uh...well...I told him..." he looked away quickly, and Zoro could see the sweat forming above his curled eyebrow, the twitch of his hand to his pack of cigarettes, the shifting of his weight to his left foot - lying. Caught in a lie.

"Spit it out, Sanji," he growled. "We can have a nice little honesty hour later, right?"

The cook gritted his teeth - he hated it when Zoro referred to anything about their relationship in front of their friends or in public, whether it was bad or good. "Look, I told you about Ace and Luffy and Sabo, but that was a couple of days ago, so you wouldn't remember." He pulled out the cigarette and popped it between his lips. "But yes, they are helping us, and no, don't try to stop them, stupid."

Zoro stood up. "So you invited them?" he accused. "This isn't fun and games! This is human traffickers, and we're trying to erase my career, my _face_, from the files of these crime lords. It's going to be a bloodbath!"

"Which is why you are going to need us, Zoro," Usopp said from the counter. Zoro looked at him pointedly.

"Usopp, no offense, but -"

"I'm not going _in_, idiot," Usopp sniffed. "Kaya would kill me." He held up his iPhone and let the light catch the screen, leaving a glare on Zoro's eyes. "But there's gonna be cameras, baka, and somebody needs to erase your...what did you say...face?"

"Huh?" Zoro felt frustrated, left out, stupid. What was going on?

Usopp tapped the screen of his phone and grinned deviously. "You are talking to Sogeking right now, Zoro, not Ussop the engineer! I am the world's greatest hacker! Oh, if only I had time to tell you the story about the time I broke into the CIA's most secret files, why I -"

"Okay, stop," Sanji cut him off.

"So you're gonna hack into the security system?" Zoro asked blankly.

"And I'm providing the transportation, both there and getaway cars," Franky said from behind him.

"I'm breaking out the young ladies!" Brook called from the kitchen. "Yohoho! So nobody can see their panties but me!"

"I've procured the blueprints for the ship, and will be provided you guidance via a secure telecommunications network..." Robin said.

"I'm just coming as first aid back up," Chopper said with a smile. "I come on lots of trips with Luffy and the boys!"

"And what about you?" Zoro asked Nami, who giggled.

"It's economically in my favor for me to come with you," she said with a wink.

"And the rest of you?" the swordsman looked, bewildered, at Marco, Ace, Luffy, and Sanji.

"That's Sanji's jurisdiction," Marco said. "I interjected some of my expertise and opinions, but he's quite the tactical genius. He'll be briefing us today. That's why we're here."

Zoro's knees felt weak. He sat down in the chair again and stretched out his legs experimentally. "I just have one question." He met all the eyes of his friends, people he had trusted, people who he considered closer to him than family. "Why did you hide them from me all these years?"

Nami shrugged. "We didn't want to stand in the way of your goal."

"Yeah," Usopp said from behind him, "You felt your job was the best way to advance your skills...and we didn't need you quitting because you were afraid of getting sent on a case to take any of us down."

"Down for what?" Zoro wondered.

"Hacking," Usopp answered.

"Grand theft auto," Franky suggested.

"Black market involvement," Robin mused.

"Shoplifting, pickpocketing, and illegal stock market deals..." Nami counted off on her fingers.

"Illegal contraband, Yohoho!"

Zoro's eyes fell on Luffy. The young man laughed boisterously.

"Zoro, I don't know what's illegal and what isn't!" he chuckled, slapping his knees. "But big brother and I -"

Ace's hand clapped over his younger brother's mouth. "Don't worry about it, Zoro," he said. "What matters is, we're here to help you now."

It took Zoro and couple of minutes, and thankfully, his guests were patient. He placed both hands on the side of his head and gently rubbed his temples. He was back home in the real world, but everything was changing now whether he liked it or not. It appeared that there weren't too many differences between the pirates he had met this past week and his gang of friends in New York. Despite their criminal activities, he had to keep in mind that nobody was raping little girls or cooking meth in a lab off the highway; in fact, most of their crimes were lexical in nature, discounting the brothers. Even more so, he reminded himself, was it fair for him to be surprised? No, probably not. In fact, he doubted it was even fair for him to rage against Sanji for holding this information from him, because it was what his friends had decided, and thus it wasn't his place to tell.

The swordsman likely would have done the same in his place.

He sighed, and looked up to face the room of people who were watching him anxiously. "Okay," he sighed. "Let's do this." He held out his hand to the cook. "But I need a strong drink first."

"Get it yourself!" Sanji barked, but he was already at the fridge, pulling out a couple bottles, and mixing his husband a beverage. Once the chilled glass touched Zoro's fingertips, the swordsman smiled, feeling his fingers brush up against Sanji's ever-so-lightly. The cook sat down beside him on the chair, and Zoro resisted the urge to pull the man into his lap.

"I'm only going to explain this once," Zoro's husband said. "So everybody shut up and listen. This is how it's going to go down, if everything goes according to plan -"

ZOSAN

Everybody had left three hours ago, and Zoro and Sanji were still cleaning up in dead silence. Each skittering sound of the broom being dragged across the floorboards seemed to echo, every clank of the dried dishes being placed in the cabinet a jarring sound to the ear. Zoro frowned as he watched Sanji scrub the burners on the stove, his thin elbow rubbing furiously, his hair over his downcast eyes.

"When are we going to talk about this?" he asked.

"Never sounds nice," Sanji muttered.

Zoro sighed and sat down at the counter. He stared at the vase beside him, the flowers in it nearly dead. He caressed the stalk of one of the living blooms between his two fingers, and as he did, a shower of dry petals fell to the floor beside him. He scowled and collected them in the palm of his hand, tossing them in the trash.

"I hate talking just as much as the next guy," Zoro said, "so that's fine by me." Knowing it would fail, he placed a hand on Sanji's shoulder, which was shrugged off. The cook even backed away from him a step and shivered. The swordsman grunted affirmatively. "But we need to, see?"

Sanji kept scrubbing at the stovetop.

"I'm sorry I lied to you about Smoker, Sanji."

The cook huffed and grabbed a bottle of spray cleaner, which he used to cover the countertop liberally, following up with paper towels to rub clean.

"But I just really wanted to save up some extra money, and I wanted it to be a surprise. It's not what you think."

Sanji was focusing on one invisible spot on the counter now. He barely even rubbed at it, just looking down, moving his arm back in forth reflexively.

"I heard you talking to Sabo about wanting to open that Soup Kitchen in the Bronx..."

The cook was completely frozen now, not even pretending to be scrubbing.

"But you kept talking about how much money that would cost to set up and maintain...and how we had to save up for adoption, and then getting a new place, and a kid isn't cheap, no matter how much money you have..." Zoro rubbed his palms on the counter, trying to get some of the sweat off, and left greasy stains where Sanji had just cleaned. "I wanted to surprise you with a big trust fund for it...I know I promised but it was just going to be a couple more jobs. And I just _hated _not contributing to our financial situation."

Finally, Sanji made some noise. He groaned loudly and pulled at his hair, tossing the dirty paper towel aside. "I knew it had something to do with your stupid macho ideals! You paid off this apartment until kingdom come, bought me a designer kitchen and an Armani wardrobe and you _still_ think you haven't contributed enough?"

Zoro's jaw dropped. "Is that all you caught from that entire speech? The last sentence?"

Sanji sprayed the cleaner on the swordsman's face, but Zoro closed his eyes and turned away in time. "Shut up!" he snapped. "I heard you, but I don't give a shit how sweet it is! You lied to me and you risked your life! It's stupid!" He sprayed the cleaner again and again, spritzing until Zoro's clothes were wet. "Stupid!" he added for good measure.

"You lied to me, too!" the swordsman shot back, wiping the stinging ammonia-based liquid from his face. "About everyone, I might add! For years!"

"You think I _wanted_ to?" Sanji seethed. "It killed me everyday to not be able to tell you! If you weren't so convinced there was no other way to hone your skills except through assassin work, I wouldn't shot down their insistence and told you despite what they wanted! But I couldn't, because they were right!"

Zoro shook his head, the guilt of the situation overwhelming him. He opened the fridge and took out a beer, cracking it open over the sink and taking a deep, frothy chug.

"And there you go, drinking again!" Sanji called out, throwing his hands in the air.

"What?" Zoro snapped. He lifted his drink in the air. "This bothers you now?"

"No!" Sanji said. He slammed his fist on the cabinet, and the mugs inside jangled. "I mean yes, but no! Just everything you -" he indicated at Zoro with angry, open hands "-everything you _do _just makes me so fucking mad right now!"

"Oh, that's fair," Zoro sneered, voice dripping with venom. "Now I don't even have to do anything to piss you off, okay."

Sanji gritted his teeth. "Oh, fuck off! Why don't you just go fuck a pirate?"

The swordsman took a swig from his drink, wiping his mouth off with the back of his sleeve when he was done, just to irritate the cook more. "Look who's talking," he taunted. It was not a playful jeer, but rather low and indignant. "Was that swashbuckling jerk really that sexy? Because to me, it sounded like he was a good-for-nothing bastard, but maybe you like that now."

"Like what?" Sanji pried.

"Being used and walked all over."

"Oi! Nobody walks all over me," Sanji insisted.

Zoro laughed, cold, dry, from the darkest part of his gut. "Sure, sure," he said sarcastically. He raised his voice and said, "_Sanji-kun, could you come shopping with us and carry our bags?_ and _Cook-san, you wouldn't driving me the airport for the seventh time this month, would you?_"

"Just because I'm a gentleman..." the cook started to snarl.

"Oh, so you think it's just the women?" Zoro laughed again. He was terrified the hear the sound - what was he doing, why was he being such a monster? "You break your back cooking for the brothers and they never give you so much as a _thank you_ and -"

"Shut up!" Sanji yelled. Zoro looked up at the sound of something shattering. There, against the window, were the remains of the bouquet and vase that he had ordered for the cook. The dirty water stained the floor, the blossoms floating on top of it to lay scattered about in the broken glass. "He didn't walk all over me, and you know I like that you don't do that, so don't try to pull and pretend that I want something I don't!" he placed the toe of his feet on top of one of the flowers and crushed it into the floor as he talked, reducing it to a blue mush. "How am I supposed to feel when you run off with some wild and free sea cook?"

Zoro nearly spluttered up half of the beer he just swallowed. "It was you, though!"

"Don't give me that crap," Sanji shot back. "He was me, sure, but without responsibility, and easy lay, probably _never _wants to top -"

"You're bringing sex into this?" the swordsman slammed his beer on the table. "You said that was the number one I couldn't break when fighting!"

"Fuck the rules!" Sanji screamed shrilly. "You fuck everything else around here anyway!"

"I can't _believe _you!" Zoro raged. He stood up now, leaving his drink abandoned, as it had failed to calm him down. He stalked across the room to the cook, who stood his ground, glaring at him with a blue eye that seemed to be wrapped in fire. He shoved Sanji's shoulder, his weak point, and watched as he man stumbled back a bit, although his feet never left the ground.

"I love it when you top!" the swordsman insisted, shoving him again.

"Fine," Sanji relented, "But -"

"NO!" Zoro screamed, and he pushed the cook again, harder, and again, even harder, until Sanji's feet gave and he fell against the far wall. He then grabbed both the blond's shoulder and slammed him on the wall, once, twice, violently shaking him. "No! I love making love with you, to you, by you, whatever! I want you, and I've always wanted you! I want my husband, Sanji, Sanji Roronoa, and I want -" his voice cracked, and he realized he had been yelling the entire time, so he lowered it some decibels and said, "I want children with you because I want kids, end of story, and there is no other man that I'd want raising my children by my side. I want you, Sanji." He reached up, both hands cupping the side of Sanji's face, his fingers deep in the man's blond hair. The cook was looking down, and he couldn't see his eyes, so he pushed the bangs aside, leaving his face clear. Asymmetrical brows, blue eyes swimming with wetness, shaking, pert lips.

"I want you because your my best friend, because you push me to limits nobody else can bring me to, because you understand my soul and...shit...sometimes it feels like you're..." the swordsman held his hand over his chest, and pounded above his heart, trying to imply something he couldn't say, "It feels like you reside in my soul, sometimes, not even like your a part of me, but like you always were a part of me...not like a limb or even in my heart...but your like...in my blood, Sanji, I can't..." he rubbed with the pad of his thumb, catching an escaping tear falling from the cook's eye. "I can't live without you."

"Zoro, I -"

"I'm not done," the swordsman cut him off. "I know that this isn't enough - hell, if love were enough the world would be a simpler place. But I want to make it up to you, in any way that I can. I want to help you grow and reach your ambitions, I want to set up that Soup Kitchen, I want to make sure your restaurant gets five stars on every review for the next century, I want to -"

"Zoro..."

"I'll pick up my towels off the floor and I'll drink less booze and I'll even learn what the hell a paring knife is -"

"Zoro, stop it."

Finally, the stream of words tumbling from the swordsman's mouth came to a rest, as he looked into the face he still held in his hands. One of the cook's hands reached up and grabbed his own, and their fingers fell into each other's, intertwining perfectly from years of practice. "Shut up," he murmured, kissing Zoro's callused fingers. "I love you and I want you the way you are. Stop trying, you idiot. You'll always have me. You always did."

The moment these words graced Zoro's ears, he immediately wasn't sure where Sanji's body begun and where his own ended. Their lips touched, the meeting of two parts always meant to be together, muttering each other's name as they touched in place of kissing, the air between them stained with their tears and their emotions, the swordsman's rough throat still singing from all the shouting he did. But all he could do was kiss, and continue to kiss, wrapping his arms around the waist of the cook in front of him and crushing his slender form to his own broad chest, pressing him in closer and closer. Zoro brushed the man's hair and slid off the man's clothes, he kissed the man's teardrops and held the man's hand. In turn, fingers ran through his hair and slipped off his shirt and pants. He felt hands caress his side and a finger run across his gnarled scar. And all this time, he felt starving for air, light-headed, weightless.

It was with definite reality that Zoro realized he was drowning. He was completely submerged, under water in the sea of his husband, and he was never going to resurface again.

Amidst their touching, their bodies floundering against each other, the two of them found themselves lying in their bed, hands still roaming, eyes still closed, lips still touching. There was kisses on backs and chests and the inside of thighs. There was groaning as they moved together with one another in the sheets, bodies writhing incessantly as they itched to get even more tangled in each other's limbs.

There was no sex that night, but there was intimacy, and there was love. And it was in these touches that Zoro was beguiled into the sea, taken from shore, and lost to the waves forever.

_A/N: So, a lot happened in this chapter. Yeah, they are all criminals, I planned it that way from the beginning. I mean, come on, you don't just go from piracy in one universe to goody-two-shoes in the next. Silly. _

_Second, no, I'm not gonna tell you the plan, and then write out as they execute it. That's boring, and stupid, and a lot more writing than I feel like doing._

_Third, that was a nasty fight, wasn't it? Eh, not really. I don't know about you readers, but if you've ever been in a long term relationship, you'll understand how fights can get pretty nasty pretty fast, and you'll say a lot of dick things that you'll regret._

_Lastly, Zoro isn't dead. That's a metaphor. Because I think Sanji is like an ocean and Zoro is like land. I don't know if it makes sense. Sorry. _

_Andddd...I hope you liked it. Leave a review or something. I guess._


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: I do not Own Piece. But if Oda was on sale at the slave auction, I would buy him in a second so he could sit there all day and write me as much manga as I wanted.**

"Are you scared, cook?"

"Hell no. I'm _mad_."

"Good," Zoro smiled. "Let's take care of this..." he slipped his sword from the scabbard, "before dinner time."

As soon as the words left Zoro's mouth, the rest of the conversation he may have had with the cook was drowned out with the sounds of half a dozen cannons firing. Like the snap of a whip, the two men broke free from the crow's nest, Zoro drawing a sword and Sanji raising his leg. They split off into opposite directions, and with the sling of a blade and the kick of a leg, two cannon balls were redirected in their course, landing in the water beside the ship to explode uselessly. At the same time, the two men feel from the height in the air and landed, both standing straight on the railing of the Sunny's deck, both facing the enemy ship. Sanji lit his smoke and Zoro sheathed his sword. Between them, they sensed the presence of their captain step up as well, heard the cracking of his knuckles.

"They came back?" he asked, his voice low and grating. "Good. I wanted them to."

"Why's that, Captain?" Zoro asked, but as he did, he felt an understanding grin ghost at the corner of his lips.

"So I can kick their ass, of course," Luffy laughed. "Let's do this, men."

From behind the three on the railing, the rest of the crew shouted their affirmation. Zoro did not have to turn and pass them a glance to sense them raising their fists in the air.

"I'm going to stay here," Franky said, "and fend off their ship's attacks..." he slammed his two metal arms together, "And unleash some of our own, SUPER style!"

"Okay, good, defense," Luffy agreed. He stretched out his arms around some of the crew, collecting them, and then squatted down, ready to leap. "And we'll be offense!"

"Oi, Luffy!" Zoro cursed as he felt the tug of the rubber arm.

"W-w-wait a minute!" Usopp cried. "You grabbed the wrong guy, Luffy!"

"Captain-san..." Robin whispered menacingly.

"Yohohoho!" Brook laughed.

Sanji gulped. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch, isn't it?" he asked, feeling the weightless of the grab attack him, and then the sudden snap as he went flying at the deck of the enemy ship with more inertia than he was prepared to handle.

The impact was not underrated. They skidded across the wood, went flying into the main mast, collided and bounced off, and eventually came to a stop ten feet from it, lying in a mass of limbs and concussed skulls - except for Luffy, who had already snapped to his feet and was cracking his knuckles.

The crew of the enemy ship descended upon them like wolves. In a second, a dozen blades and the muzzles of rifles were pressed to their necks, heads, and other body parts. Zoro threw a glance at Sanji, who was glaring at the attackers with a stream of smoke rising from him. His face was unreadable.

"Looks like we're cornered, curly," he commented.

Sanji sniffed. "Maybe you are, useless marimo." Zoro watched as Sanji's body tensed, and he did so as well, gathering his muscles together for a backlash. He waited for the cook to speak again, an insult, or something - anything would be a signal.

"Try not to get killed."

Zoro froze. Sanji was already on his feet, beating back assailants, but the swordsman had hesitated, because the words were so unexpected. He was prepared for Sanji to mock him or brag or use some other over-the-top cool line, but these words had caught him off guard. _Try not to get killed_? He scoffed - as if. It was the love cook that needed to watch his back with all those injuries. Now prepared, he released his muscles, snapped back and took down twenty of the men around him, including those who were holding Usopp down...for he was the only other one who hadn't joined the fray yet.

His eyes surveyed the deck as he cut through enemies were sure speed. Up above, Luffy was bursting into the confines of the ship already, tearing down walls and screaming for the man named Lee who had stolen Sanji in the first place. Down below, Robin stood calmly with her arms crossed, and Brook was sitting down while he played his violin, soothing the weaker men into a slumber. Usopp had finally risen and was scrambling up the main mast in fear - either that, or he was looking for a good height to shoot from. Regardless, he'd come through and fight eventually. The ship was covered in clouds and Zoro winced as he saw an explosion tear through the latest round of the enemy's cannon attack, feeling the heat from Franky's weapons scorch his face. And the cook...

Zoro frowned. He didn't see the cook.

The swordsman weaved through the enemy like a snake, but instead of nipping at heels, he was cutting open chests, ripping open vital arteries, leaving gaping wounds on the enemies' sides. He leapt to the upper deck, his eyes on the look out for the cook, but just as he landed on the floorboards, something rough and steel wrapped around his body. A gasp for air escaped his lips, and Zoro fell, face on the rough splintering wood.

A bare footed heel dug into his cheek, gnashing his own teeth. The swordsman squirmed to no avail. His swords and arms were completely enclosed at his sides, all out of reach to be used by him. Thick black chains had been wrapped around his body in a second, pinning him in this position. The steel bit at his skin, and he released that his ribcage was dangerously close to being crushed from the pressure of the restraints. He rolled over to get a look at his attacker.

A large, tanned, wrinkled man looked down at him. "Roronoa Zoro, huh?" he asked, digging the hell into his teeth further. Zoro cursed as he pulled away and spit out a tooth along with some spit turned pink with blood. "My boss said that you'd be trouble, so he sent me to take care of you. This should be easy."

"Who the hell are you?" Zoro coughed out the words.

"General Hotdog!" he announced. "And I have the strongest kicks in the world! Kicks that can break steel!"

Break steel, huh? The swordsman tried to contain his grin. "General Hotdog?" he asked. "Suits you, I guess. You look like a slab of dumb meat."

"What was that?" Hotdog growled, and he swung a kick at Zoro. Instead of rolling to dodge it, the swordsman braced himself and took it head on. The kick was certainly not an ordinary blow - as soon as the impact hit, Zoro felt his lower ribs both crack, he felt the boards of the deck below him creak in protest, he felt the air driven from his lungs at excruciating speed. He coughed and cried out, flying to slam back into the wall of the cabin behind him.

"Don't you dare insult me, you filthy pirate!" Hotdog said as he went in for another charge. Zoro grinned up at him.

"Your the disgusting one, trying to steal one away for whore-duty."

It apparently was the wrong taunt to use. Hotdog froze, and squatted down until he was eye level with Zoro. "I was also told..." he began, "...that we suspected a certain swordsman was interested in said cabin boy."

Zoro scowled. "Sanji is no cabin boy!"

Hotdog stood up, laughing loudly, hands on his hips. "I knew it was true! So you lust have him, huh, you fucking faggot?" With the awful insult, a kick landed, and Zoro gagged. His stomach jangled against his other organs, he struggled to keep a spew of vomit down. "Does the blondie even know?"

"Die, you son of a bitch," was all Zoro managed to say before his body was racked by coughing again.

This amused the man further. He laughed, slapping his hard, thick middle, and then backtracked a few feet. He bent his knees, prepared to attack, and then jumped. Zoro could only watch as the man spun through the air, his kick gaining speed, until he made swift and deadly contact with the swordsman's chest. The chains creaked but did not break. In contrast, Zoro's insides did not fare so well. Another rib snapped, and he felt a sharp, indescribable pain well up from his lungs. Suddenly the air seemed rougher, harder to draw in, and each inhale sent the fire of pain running through his nerves, painting them numb.

"Fuck..." he moaned to himself. "Pierced lung, huh?"

He did not have much time to reflect as another kick flew in, and took his side, sending him tumbling across the deck, slamming occasionally into the railing, skittering on the floor to a stop. He felt the burn of scrapes opening up on his sides, bleeding on his arm until his black bandana was soaked with blood. He watched with blurry vision as Hotdog approached, and searched behind the man at the furious battle that was being waged. He still could not see Sanji.

"Damn that cook..." he murmured. "Why didn't he tell me how he felt before this..." He squinted his eyes shut, imagining Sanji one last time how he'd like to remember him - blond hair in his face, wide grin, eyes sparkling like the sea in the middle of a cloudless afternoon. He imagined the cook at the dinner table, serving some food, in the kitchen, baking dessert, in the bedroom, sitting above him, cheeks flushed and panting in arousal, and in his hammock, eyes closed, murmuring for _mellorine_ in his sleep. A soft smile twisted the corner of Zoro's mouth as blood leaked from the sides. Before the kick landed, the last image that crossed his mind was Sanji...with a child...a small blond boy with tan skin, held in the cook's skinny but strong arms, but reaching out for another...

_Dad_, the boy said. _Dad, come try what Papa and I made..._

Zoro nearly laughed right before the impact. _What I fool I've been, _he thought. _I guess it turns out...that I really do want everything this life has to offer_.

The kick landed, and the sound of cracking steel and bones echoed in the base of Zoro's skull. Blood spewed from his mouth as he flew backward, so much that it stained his chin and splattered on his shirt, so much that his vision began to darken around the edges and then finally turn black.

ZOSAN

Sanji had not gone far into the crowd of attackers before he felt it - a strong, steel band wrapped around his waist. He struggled to get free, but that was when the band sliced into his skin, ripping his gut open, and he ceased his writhing before the wounds got worse. Instead, he launched himself in the direction of the blade-whip, which led him through a door. He slammed through it as the whip lashed back, and off of him. On a staircase going downward, Sanji spotted a shadow, which laughed before sprinted further down the stairs.

"Trying to lure me down there, bastard..." he said. Given the opportunity to adjust, he took a scrap of fabric from his ruined shirt and tied it tightly around his middle, stoppering his blood flow so he could fight without fear of passing out. When the wounds were secured, he took off down the stairs, deep into the storage levels of the ship, called forward by a sick and high-pitched cackle that grated on his ears.

Eventually, he came into one of the main holds, which was dimly lit by a few swinging oil lamps. All around him were various barrels and boxes of supplies. Sanji cast his gaze around, trying to spot a hint of movement or catch a sound, attempting to locate his attacker, but there was nothing but silence in the room.

An echoing voice rose up, and the cook spun around, trying to place it, but it seemed to come from everywhere, bouncing off the curved walls of the hull. "Oh, Boss Lee is not going to be happy with that wound I gave you!" He cackled. "I'll have to be more careful!"

Sanji cursed, kicking over a pile of boxes. There was nothing behind it. "Where are you, filthy coward? I'll show you how careful you have to be!"

Another laugh. "Don't go ruining our supplies! Those boxes are our property, just like you will be soon!"

The cook took out a barrel, and with the contact of his kick, red wine spewed everywhere, staining his shirt, his hip, his chin, and even the matted side of his hair with maroon. He cursed and leaped away, spitting out some of the alcohol. "I don't belong to the likes of you!"

This time, the laughter did not come. Instead, the echoing voice said, "Oh ho, so who do you belong to?"

Sanji stopped moving. He had been caught up in his own words. "I belong to nobody!" he declared, but it sounded weak and untrue.

A chuckle, lower than before, and definitely from somewhere behind Sanji. He whirled to face the general direction of the assailant, but he still could not even spot the man's shadow. "How adorable, our little plaything is in love with somebody else? Does that give the fire to fight back?" The voice gave a hum of thoughtfulness. "Which one is it, the green haired fellow? We could always snag him, too...let him watch as we break you..."

The cigarette fell from Sanji's lips and hit the floor, sizzling out in the puddle of wine at his feet. "Shut up..." he snarled, the voice coming from deep within him, his visible eye searching wildly now, leaning forward so he could hear better.

"Does he even know?" the voice teased. "Oh well, he will once you start screaming out his name, right?"

There - the set of boxes on the left. "Don't fuck with me!" Sanji screamed, raising his left leg high. He launched himself in the air and let his leg come crashing down like a deadly scythe, boxes splintering, materials flying haphazardly. He landed with a heel embedded deep in the boards of the room, and yanked it free, leaving a black hole from which a small spurt of water started to leak through.

But all this was information taken in with passing, for Sanji's main focus was the hideous man in front of him, wielding a sword that he was swishing to and fro like a whip. He moved like a snake, dancing before his prey, black marks on his face that blended into his raven hair, giving him the appearance of some type of cobra. He hissed from between his teeth, brushing the shattered supplies that Sanji had scattered off the shoulders of his flamboyant uniform.

"President Heaby," he presented himself as. "And if you stay for long, blondie, I'll be fucking with you very much." He grinned, a sick and twisted smile, before drawing back, preparing to launch his strike. Sanji stood his ground, trying to predict the man's movements. As soon as he went out to strike, Sanji dodged, but the man took his whip of a sword and snapped it so it caught the cook anyway, whipping across his shins and leaving red welted cuts there.

"Call me Prince," Sanji whispered, pulling a set of yellow-tinted glasses from his breast pocket and placing them on his face. He looked over the rim of them at the man and sent him the most furious set of side-uppercut-roundhouse kicks that he was capable of. Finally, one made contact, although his opponent dodged with impeccable speed, and then -

No, his kick passed straight through the man as if he wasn't there, because he wasn't there anymore... Sanji felt the breath of the man behind him, and then heard the swing of the sword - one, two, three, four, five cuts, and his glasses shattered in the air, broken frames flying out of arms reach. The cook hit the floor in the wetness of the wine, which stung at his wounds and seeped through his clothes. He tried to push himself up, but his hands slipped, and he fell back into the sloshing liquid again.

"Some Prince you are," the man above him taunted, pressing the tip of his blade to Sanji's neck. "You really are no match for my sword, pretty boy." He lowered the blade and caught the corner of Sanji's shirt with it. The man called Heaby snapped his wrist and the blade cut across the fabric, ripping stiches open and revealing Sanji's bare chest.

Heaby cackled again, pressing the steel tip of the blade up against a small bruise on Sanji's skin, tracing it with the cold metal. "A love bite, huh? I guess we'll have to wait for this to fade. You won't fetch as much if you aren't a virgin."

Sanji pressed a hand to his side, where blood was leaking freely from a deeper wound, one that was a bit more than surface level. He scowled at the man above him, trying desperately to move, but his sides seized up with pain, his feet ached, his back stretched along the scar. "Damn you, you ugly bastard," he growled, "you're just jealous, aren't you?"

This appeared to be the wrong words to say. The cook was shocked as the bite of steel sunk into the bruise on his shoulder and dug in deep, at least two inches in - he was sure that the man was set on orders to not overly harm him, seeing as he had to be put together well enough to serve their master. But he could think of that no more once he saw the rage on Heaby's face, twisting his ugly, long chin into a point, his eyes dug deep in shadows of his wrinkles as he dug the blade in further, causing Sanji to arch his back away from the pain.

"Jealous?" he sneered. "Why would I be jealous? Jealous of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty like you?" Sanji gasped, wanting to respond, but he lost all the air from his lungs as the blade began to drag down. His eyes caught the corner of the man's torturous ministrations, the blade leaving a gash on his left pectoral. The skin flapped for a moment as the steel left it open, before blood gushed out and coated the wound from sight, leaving it swimming it a sea of red.

"Why would I be jealous?" Heaby asked again, and Sanji screamed as the man took his foot and dug it into the wound, pressurizing it, squirting blood out, and also irritating it with the mud and scum that sunk into the open flesh. "Jealous because every man seems to want you? Jealous that you'd choose a swordsman like Roronoa Zoro?" He scoffed and then spit in Sanji's face. "I'm far by the better swordsman, and the better lover, you'll find out, blondie, if you just stop being -" he raised his sword "-such a little slut!"

Blood and wine and sweat all made Sanji's eyelashes heavy, but he managed to open them to watch the glint of steel as it flashed across his vision, and couldn't help but smile. In this moment, all he could think of was Zoro. "Stupid swordsman," he whispered to himself, "he wanted me the whole time, didn't he?" He thought of how it felt to be in Zoro's warm embrace, how Zoro looked while napping, while playing with Chopper, while he was lost, the idiot... He thought of Zoro drinking and killing and sucking his arousal, he thought of Zoro reading the paper and running his hands through his hair. Lastly, he thought of Zoro's kiss - that wonderful, gentle, perfect kiss. The brushing of two souls, a breath of life from a better world.

_Or maybe I was the one, _Sanji thought to himself as the blade swung down to impact, _who was too blind to see...the love of my life at my dinner table every night...How ironic..._

ZOSAN

Meanwhile, decks above, inside the captain's cabin, a man by the name of Monkey D Luffy was hanging from the clenched fist of the thick-middled man named Lee. He scowled and spit on the pirate captain's young, blood-stained face.

"You picked the wrong people to mess with, Strawhat. You should have just handed over your cook and counted your losses."

Luffy lifted his arm and clamped down on the man's wrist that held him aloft. He grinned under the brim of his hat, the blood leaking down his face into his mouth, staining his revealed incisors pink. Sharp lines formed around those wild, childish eyes, and his pupils turned into tiny pinpoints, pricks that conveyed a world of wrath.

"Hand over Sanji?" he snorted out. "Ridiculous." His dug his fingers into the man's skin, who shook his harder, irritating the many wounds all over Luffy's body. But his grip only tightened on Lee's arm. "I'm not handing over any of my nakama!" With those words, Luffy snapped the wrist that was holding him up and Lee was forced to drop him, cursing in pain.

On the floor now, Luffy swayed as he pushed himself to his feet. "But you'll anger the royalty of the world, you idiot boy!" Lee seethed. "Don't you realize it'll be an enemy more than anybody could handle?"

But the rubber man stood in spite of the threat, tottering until he reached his balance, adjusting the hat fixed on his brow. "I don't care who it is," he declared. "Sanji is my cook. Zoro is my swordsman. Nami is my navigator." He placed his hand on his upper arm, securing it, and drew back his fist for a punch, digging the heels of his sandals into the ground.

"I won't let you have a single one!" he promised. "Because we are friends, we are family, we are _nakama_! And there is nothing -" he drew his fist back to its fullest stretched height, "- more powerful than that bond!"

No man or woman could have prepared themselves for Luffy's assault, and that included the slave-trader by the name of Lee. He stood, rooted to the ground, as the first flew at him with the speed beyond this world, a simple fist with bruised knuckles and scuffed palms, a fist that slammed into his jaw, shattering it on impact, before the force of the impact sent him flying out the door of his cabin and threw the air. He felt the railing slam on his back and break as the fist pressed forward, he felt the open air beneath him as he hovered above the deck for a few seconds, and then he felt the fist leave his face and he began to fall...fall into a hundred men fighting with rifles and swords, fall half unconscious and wondering...

_Maybe I picked the wrong blue-eyed, blond floozy._

Up above on the deck, Luffy stumbled from the broken wall of the cabin, his arm snapping back into position, as he looked down at the men below. On the aft of the ship, Brook was engaged with a particularly skilled swordsman. In the crow's nest, Usopp was shooting down at a man hidden behind a set of boxes, who was shooting back up at him with a menacing set of revolvers, and right below him, Robin was strangling the last of air from a woman who was armed with a set of daggers.

He did not smile as he watched the man he had defeated fall into the crowd below. His face was grim as he saw the bullet that grazed his chest, as he saw the sword that sliced his leg and left it bleeding. Eventually, he hit the ground, and his crew began to take notice. It started like a set of dominos and spread outward, panic and horror creeping on to each face in turn. "Lee! Boss Lee!' some of the men called out.

The Strawhat Captain turned away, looking behind him, but he was unable to spot either Zoro or Sanji. _Probably lost_, he thought to himself briefly, and then, _I hope they are fighting together, rather than alone...these guys are pretty tough_.

As he left the cabin to go search for the rest of his crew, he didn't notice the newspaper under his feet, proclaiming the capture of a pirate by the name of Portgas D Ace. In fact, as Luffy walked, he even stepped on the picture and smudged the cocky smile printed on the page as he walked by. He wouldn't have even paused if he did notice his brother's face, too consumed with thoughts of loosing the ones he loved; because that was one lesson Luffy learned earlier in life...

Being alone hurts more than physical pain.

_A/N: Well, now you know why I was avoiding this chapter. Because of the sadness. Also, both of Sanji and Zoro's opponents were taken from the One Piece Movie 3. They aren't my own. I try to stick with canon if I can, and if not, I'll take from movies and fillers. _

_Except for Zoro and Sanji fucking, because that can be see nowhere...well maybe in Movie 6 (hahaha)_

_Please read and review, I'm sensitive about this chapter... love to hear from you! And I'm sorry it's so short!_


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece. I don't wish I did. That's a lot of fan mail.**

**Just kidding, there's never such a thing as too much fan mail. **

Sanji's cigarette was stinking up the entire car as they drove down to Jersey, black-tinted windows, leather seats, and an engine so quiet one would never believe its horsepower. Luffy sat between the two men in the backseat, snoring, while Marco drove and Ace sat shotgun. The rest of their crew would meet up with them via a different route. "Once you and Ace have settled inside Storage B-3, you can't move until the boat takes off. I know we're on pressed time, but there is no head starts, got it?"

"I got it, I got it, for the thousandth time. Jesus, I am never doing a job with you again." Zoro was staring out the window, resting both of his hands on top of each other on his sword case. He watched the highway buzz by.

"Hopefully you won't have to do a job again."

The swordsman grunted affirmatively, then sent the cook a scathing look. "I can't believe you wore a cardigan."

"What?" Sanji snapped. "It's chilly on the shore!"

"You look like a pansy. I could never fight a man seriously when he was wearing a cardigan."

"Well, you look like a - a - damn punk with that bandana!"

"Punk? What are you, an old man now, too?"

"You bastard! I'm only a couple months older than you!"

"Couldn't tell by the way you organize the spice rack, wife-y."

"OI!" Ace spun around in his seat and slapped a wide hand across both Sanji's and Zoro's foreheads in one fell swoop. "Sabo ain't here to break up fights, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna tolerate 'em."

The blond and the green-haired man both leaned back into the respective seats, crossing their arms and glowering at each other. Their close friend Luffy remained in the middle, unaffected.

"Where is Sabo, anyway?" Zoro asked, curiosity piqued.

Ace groaned loudly, rubbing his forehead with one head. "Shut up!" he hissed between his teeth. "If Luffy hears you, he'll start crying again."

"What?" the swordsman pressed. A cold sense of dread settled in his stomach - was this was had been different between the two worlds, what needed to change? Did the other Zoro actually do away with Sabo? How come nobody had told him?

"Don't freak out, I'm sure he's fine," the older man assured him. "He just took off with some political activists seeking _freedom_ or something. He'll probably wind up with the Peace Corps and come home in two years, covered in bug bites and ready to work at the dojo again." He shrugged. "Luffy just misses him a lot. It was all rather sudden." Turning around, he flashed the swordsman a grin, "But that means that lots of classes have opened up for you to teach at the dojo once this is all over!"

Zoro smiled back at the man, before Ace swerved the car because he hadn't been looking and nearly killed them all. Once they straightened out, the swordsman couldn't help but reflect on how fun it was to watch the children the few times he had gone to the dojo himself...he remembered that was where he thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't taking away having kids from Sanji - perhaps it was something they really could to together.

Bidden by his thoughts, Zoro reached out and clasped Sanji's hand. The cook's facial expression relaxed from his annoyance, and he held Zoro's fingers, rubbing small circles into his palm with his thumb, their two hands hanging between Luffy's knobby knees. Soon, they promised each other. Sometime soon, and we can work on _us_.

ZOSAN

"Half an hour," Ace whispered into the darkness. He was in black pants, black shirt, with a black bandana around his face, covering his mouth. Zoro thought he looked overdramatic, but he didn't tell the D brother that.

"Well, we have to wait for Marco's signal that Brook is in the clear with the cargo," Zoro corrected.

"Cargo?" Ace sneered. "They're kidnapped little girls."

"I know, I know," Zoro sighed. He shifted his weight from leg to leg nervously, feeling cramped in the tight shadows. "But after Brook's off the ship...is he on his own? I don't mean to sound mean, but he's an old man. I know he's in shape, but -"

"Don't be silly." Ace shook his head. "Sanji and Marco will help Brook until he gets the girls off the ship unto Robin's...borrowed...boat."

"Borrowed," the swordsman scoffed.

Ace just shrugged and gave him a look, as if to say _What are you going to do about it?_ "They'll meet up with Usopp and continue surveillance from the base by the marina. Franky and Chopper will pick us up a half hour later, no exceptions."

"I got it..." Zoro held his swords close to his side to prevent them from jangling as he moved with the swell of the ship as it began to pick up speed, leaving the harbor. "But what about Luffy?"

"What about him?" Ace echoed.

"Sanji never gave him any instructions, did he?"

"He did," Ace's eyebrows crinkled, and Zoro could tell he was frowning underneath. "Stationed him right in the thick of it, the ballroom where they'll all be gathered for an evening banquet upstairs."

The swordsman's eyes widened. "No! That's where the distraction is happening, the bomb is going off!" He grabbed Ace's wrist and tugged at it frantically. "Come on, we only have fifteen minutes, we have to go get him out -"

"Zoro," Ace said stiffly. The swordsman looked at him desperately, wondering why he wasn't more protective of his younger brother. Nevertheless, he yielded to Ace's insistence and stopped his pulling, settling back into the shadows to listen intently.

"Luffy will be fine," the man assured him. He was smiling under his bandana, for his freckled cheeks were beginning to dimple.

"But the bomb -"

"Luffy _is_ the bomb, Zoro."

Zoro looked up at the ceiling of Storage B-3 and grinned. "Oh," he commented lightly. "That makes sense." And before the turbulence of a ruckus going on many floors above could even touch the swordsman's sensory preceptors, he heard his swords begin to sing.

"_That idiot!"_ Ace cursed beside him, before the swordsman could spring into action. He looked over, faintly hearing the security personnel beyond their room chattering over their communications. Meanwhile, a sick whine and then a crackle sounded in Zoro's ear. Loudly, Ace spoke into his microphone, relaying words to the entire crew. "What the hell was that? Was that Luffy? It's way too early - this is going to mess everything up!"

There was a round of feedback before Robin's voice came through - "We've lost contact with Mr. Strawhat, but from what I can see via the cameras that Mr. Long-Nose has us tapped into...yes, that was Mr. Strawhat."

"And what exactly did he do?" Ace pressed.

"He told me a fat man said something he didn't like, so he was going to punch him in the face and start early," Robin's cool voice relayed. "Please stay calm, Mr. Firefist. Mr. Skeleton is nearly in position, and the cargo has already been moved."

Zoro pressed the receiver to his mouthpiece. "Moving in, yes or no? That's all I want to know."

"Moving in, Mr. Marimo," Robin replied. The swordsman scowled - he hated that stupid nickname in the first place, but now it had become his codename for the night, so he would have to tolerate not just hearing it from Sanji but from everybody else. For some reason, it just didn't sound right to his ears when it was said with another's voice; it felt like a violation of Sanji's and his banter. It was only with a sinking feeling that he realized that it was probably because it was his _pet name_.

"What about Mr. Prince and Phoenix?" Ace asked, stilling Zoro's hand on the handle to the door.

"Already in action, Mr. Firefist."

Ace clicked off the communications and nodded at the swordsman, who smiled at the order to finally go in. He nearly sent the door flying off its hinges in his excitement to join the fray. As soon as the metal stronghold opened up, he exchanged one glance with his partner, and once he saw the fire and excitement burning in Ace's eyes, he knew it was time.

Their steps were silent, but swift. They tore about the corner, and like planned, split into two separate halves, one taking the left corridor and the other the right. Both men had spent hours reviewing the position of each security personnel and thus knew exactly where to strike without even tapping into their natural fighting instincts, which were honed to perfection regardless. Zoro killed the first man before he turned his back, and lowered him slowly to the ground with the tip of his blade. The next went down just as easily, although he had turned at the last second and the swordsman had caught the whites of his eyes.

He killed him just the same. Precision cuts, as though the men in the hallway were the dead carcasses of a filleted fish on Sanji's cutting board. Not a single stroke was wasted, not a single jab off-target. It was only when they had reached the stairwell to the next level that one man caught sight of Zoro as he was coming and had enough time to let out the beginnings of a yelp.

Zoro cursed at the mistake, clicking off the receiver on the man's gushing neck as voices spewed from the other end: _You okay, 24? What's going on? Copy, 24, do you read me? Anybody getting transmission from - _

The swordsman stomped on the electronic and it smashed it under his boot, broken pieces of plastic swimming in their previous owner's blood. He sighed and kicked it aside, nodding to Ace who was still holding a dead man by his broken neck. Ace clicked his own communication device.

"All clear, Miss All-Sunday?" He asked in a harsh whisper.

"All clear," Zoro heard Robin reply. "Cargo is safe, Mr. Skeleton will be joining us shortly. Please feel free to do stain the sea red with blood."

Ace winced. "You sure are weird sometimes, girl, but roger that, over and out."

With that, a dead static filled both the men's ears, and they knew that their communications had been completely cut. It was the only way to keep the passengers of the ship from contacting their forces as well, be it military, police, or something more private.

With permission to make noise, Ace proceeded to conduct the most demonic symphony that Zoro ever had to suffer through. He tossed the man whose neck he had broken down the flight of stairs, took his handgun, and fired three shots up into the ceiling above them. The bullets rebounded and ricocheted and rang like a million iron bells, meanwhile the thunder clap of his unmuffled gun echoed on for much longer.

As soon as the sound faded, another one began. The sound of a couple dozen trained guards stampeding down the stairs, moving into formation, hiding behind railings and in blind spots and preparing to attack the intruders from below. Ace scratched the side of his head with the barrel of his gun as Zoro walked up the stairs behind him, dragging the blade of Sandai Kitetsu across the ground; the sound of it scraping on the pavement was akin to the wail of something dying in the dark.

"Welcome to S.S. Massacre," Ace shouted up the stairs to their opponents. "Any communications you had to the outside world, including cellular devices and internet, have been severed." He dodged the first bullet that flew at him. "Please notify your employers that they should begin to prepare their fat asses for hell." Zoro smacked another bullet aside with the flat of his blade, as he easily lifted Wado Ichimonji to rest between his teeth. "Because before we send them there," Ace continued, "we're gonna give them a little motherfucking preview, boys."

The swordsman knew it was coming, but nothing could prepare him for the sequence that followed. This snap and hiss of a match as Ace lit it with his teeth - Zoro's feet were already moving in the opposite direction, heading for the stairwell on the other side of this deck - and Ace threw the fire with a flick of his two fingers, a crooked smile on his face the last thing Zoro saw before flames engulfed his vision.

Zoro evaded damage, but the force of the blast sent him flying to the ground. He skidded across the cold floor, breaking open his chin and bottom lip, his ears ringing and his vision flashing. It took him a few moments of blinking as he rose steadily to his feet, stumbling around a bit, before his hand found a wall with which to steady himself. He felt another hand grab his free arm. It was a strong hand, with calluses and burning skin. Ace.

He looked at his partner, who had singed hair and had lost half of his shirt, but was all-in-all okay. Zoro grinned, and tugged at Ace's shirt. Acknowledging the silent gesture, for the men couldn't speak right now, Ace pulled it off and shoved the tattered remains in his back pocket. Flashing him a wink, Ace took off again and Zoro followed.

They reached the top of the other staircase uninhibited, but once they started rampaging between the cabins, security was breaking out left and right - they had had enough time to regroup and reformulate their attack, and they had the advantage in both numbers and strategical places to hide. Zoro twisted as he nearly missed a swift punch from a previously closed cabin as a guard emerged, snarling at the intruders. After, he disarmed the man with a flick, sending his gun skittering across the floor toward Ace, who scooped it up and shot the man once between the eyes.

This sector finished, Zoro made to move on, but looked behind him when he realized that Ace wasn't beside him. The man was still crouched over a dead body, a crumpled bit of paper in his shaking hands, eyebrows slanted downward in an uncharacteristic display of true rage. The swordsman doubted he had ever seen Ace like this.

"Ace," he called out.

Ace stuffed the paper in his pocket. "Zoro," he answered stiffly. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to calm himself down. "Zoro, I'm sorry."

"Sorry what?" the green haired man wondered.

"I can't..." he ran his fingers through his hair, "Shit, you guys'll be fine! Look, I need to go!"

"Go?" Zoro flung his arm around at all the scattered bodies surrounding them, trying to indicate that they were in the midst of raiding a ship..at sea. "How? Why?"

"I'm commandeering one of the powerboats below, and I'll stick to the shadows. I have connections, I'll be fine." He pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket and waved it back and forth. "As for why..." he pointed at it, "Blackbeard."

"What?" Zoro recalled the name - he had killed one of Ace's friends a while back, a guy named Thatch that the swordsman had never met. He even remembered asking Ace if he wanted him to take care of the enemy named Blackbeard, but the man had chuckled and said he could take care of it himself. Only now, after seeing him in action, did Zoro truly believe that. "Now, you found him _now_?"

"Yep, and the trail is hot, but it'll get cold fast if I don't go now -" Ace gave the swordsman a two-fingered salute. "Take care of Luffy for me, will you?"

"Damn right I will," Zoro yelled back down the hall. Before he knew it, the shadow of the broad-shouldered, handsome young man was gone, and the swordsman was alone. He steadied his katanas again in his hand and took off to execute the rest of the plan. He would just have to bit more careful without a companion to watch his back.

By the time Zoro reached the staircase to the next level, everything seemed eerily silent. He moved forward with caution, taking small steps, leaving footprints of blood behind in his wake. After he turned the corner, he ducked, and heard the monstrous clap of a gunshot in the confined space, and felt the brush of something pass over his head. Grinning, he slinked up the stairs at breakneck speed, hugging the curve of each step, until he reached his assailant and sliced from jugular to earlobe. Zoro did not look back to see, but he could hear that man's previous body parts squelch as they slid apart from each other.

The next level was a war zone, and Zoro could already smell it. Luffy had started the fight only a bit above this place, and thus the security was armed to the teeth, was more loyal and trained, and by now was eager to kill. More and more, the swordsman found that he was flinging himself at walls, and at one point, ducking behind a table to avoid a barrage of bullets. He made his way into a wider hallway and smiled to himself: there, across the way was an injured man, clutching his arm were a misfired bullet had grazed him, stumbling about in the open.

_I'll just put him to sleep_, Zoro thought to himself, stealing forward with a full frontal attack. The man looked up, shocked, and held out his bloodstained hand to Zoro in surrender - but it was too late, and the hilt of Zoro's sword was crashing down on the man's skull. He swayed and then crumpled, and the swordsman went to move him aside with the flat of his blade when -

_Pain_.

No, there couldn't be pain, he wasn't injured -

_Lung, left lung - bullet_.

Impossible, though, he didn't even hear -

And that was when he heard it, belayed by more than four seconds by Zoro's shocked mind: a blaring, loud, ripping gunshot, the snapping of a bullet from its cage. Then he sensed it, although it was impossible to feel in such detail, but the blood that began to drown his lungs, the vital organ threatening to collapse. A cough dragged itself from Zoro's mouth, and with it came a frothy foam of blood and salvia, a disgusting dribble of spit staining the floor in front of him as he drew in the most painful, agonizing breath.

"Shit," he cursed. He looked up, trying to find his assailant, his vision already blurring through the pain. Distantly, at the end of the hallway, he saw a man in black, a man with his back to Zoro, and in both of the man's hands were two pistols. He forced himself to stand, pushing on his sword with its tip in the floor to get on his feet. Zoro tumbled forward, slamming into a wall, and then rebounded off, breathing erratically, making his way toward his target. When he was right behind the attacker, he raised his blade and watched the fresh crimson on it glint in the artificial light of the hall. Again, Zoro sensed a sound, but could not make it out - the man might have spoken, might have screamed at him to stop - but the pounding of the blood in his ears drowned every other distraction out, the rush of it like the sound of waves. The stranger tried to twist to face him, but could not, for he was occupied with a pain somewhere near his feet - something that pinned them to the ground and prevented him from moving.

_Wrong_.

Zoro's paused the onslaught of his blade. The voice in his head sounded like a little Japanese girl who had dedicated her short life to living by the blade. A girl named Kuina.

_Wrong_, the voice repeated. _The wound came from the front_.

Zoro flipped his vision, looking behind him, but he saw nobody. _I know that_, he told himself - _this is the front, my sense of direction isn't that bad_, and with that dismissal, he gave his assailant no warning as he swung his sword in an upward arc, cutting the man from hip to shoulder blade across the back. It was a deep wound and began to drip immediately on the wooden floorboards, turning them a darker and darker brown. The man swayed but did not fold in on himself.

The swordsman who had attacked fell backward, pressing a hand to the bleeding wound on his chest, as his life force slipped through his fingers, the pressure as useless as trying to stay a wave with his toes, it was going...falling away into the ether...

The stranger before him then made the oddest gesture - a movement that caught Zoro's eye and brightened him into wakefulness. He tugged at his left foot, and then again. A low voice cursed, and the foot was pulled free from the floorboards. In it's place, where the man's foot was, stuck a lonely, thin, long nail. A sick heavy splattering of blood followed behind the man's foot as he turned, his long and lithe form struggled to face the swordsman who had cut his back open.

"You idiot..."

Zoro blinked blindly, swiping sweat from his eyes.

"...I can't believe that smart-ass's plan worked..."

Zoro could not move off the ground, he could only stare at the man above him, a man with a black cardigan that was already thoroughly soaked through with blood, a man who ripped a black bandana from his brow to reveal blond hair. The bandana landed on Zoro's lap as the man threw it.

"Fucking nailed me here and then shot you when you came...figured you'd get disorientated and attack the first target you saw, can't blame you..." the man pointed at the bandana. "Thanks for letting me borrow that, I really did feel badass."

"No," Zoro finally managed to say.

"So let's go," the man continued to talk. "We don't have a lot of time and there are still enemies..." the man's voice weakened as he swayed on his feet. "Fuck, you got me good, shitty swordsman."

"No, Sanji, no, no..."

Still standing, the cook looked down on his husband, a scowl darkening his face, his curled eyebrow clenching, his thumbs in his pockets, only sticking out to hold the pistols he'd borrowed from Marco, his exposed eye already swelled and blackened from a well-laid punch, and a frown turning down the corners of his perfect lips. None of this was bad - in fact, the man appeared almost sexy in the moment, framed by the ill light of the ship - but for the reality of the gathering pool of blood that spread at his feet, seeping across the hall slowly toward Zoro, who was still dragging in excruciating breaths.

"It's okay, Zoro, I'm f -" and that's when Sanji was overcome. His legs collapsed, his body flopped like something long dead, hitting the floor with an audible smack, the cook's downturned blond hair laying right between the swordsman's outstretched legs.

With shaking hands, Zoro reached out and ran his fingers through Sanji's hair, feeling the golden strands becoming slick with redness. He felt a scream deep in his soul, a wailing screech that could rip the sea asunder with the vibrations of its voice, but he smothered it. He stomped it out like a unruly flame, all the while resisting the urge to turn and face the shadow that had descended behind him.

"Who...the fuck...are you, you son of a bitch?" Zoro snarled.

From behind him, a laugh tinkled lightly - _fufufufu_.

_A/N: And there you go, brothers and sisters. Still pretty sure, but um.. yeah. A lot of things to execute in this chapter - I mean things, not people... well, people too. Ah, you know. Please leave reviews, they really are the reason I've written this fiction for so long! And know that I really do love you all!_


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece and -**

**Z: YOU LEFT THEM WITH SUCH A SHITTY CLIFFHANGER! You devil woman, some people thought we were dead and then you don't update for over a WEEK?!**

**S: Don't speak to a lady like that, shitty marimo! **

**...yeah, listen to him, Zoro! Don't speak to me like that...ehh..sorry**

Zoro felt everything in his small world creak. His vision was gone, his hearing drowned out in the rush of his own blood, but he could feel the creaking of his confines under external pressure. With a deep breath, he pushed and tensed his muscles, flexing from biceps to triceps and everything between. The creaking continued, growing more and more strained, until finally Zoro was about to give in - he was not Luffy, he could not rip apart steel with sheer willpower, it was impossible, and then

_snap_.

The chains that bound him did not break, but shattered instead, falling like scraps of destroyed fabric on the floorboards of the deck, jangling against each other as they landed amongst bullet fragments and broken blades. At the sensation, Zoro found the strength to open his eyes. He looked up at his opponent, whose eyes were fixed downward at the remains of the metal at the swordsman's feet.

"How?" the man grunted.

Zoro scoffed. "Kicks strong enough to break steel, huh?" He shook his torso to dislodge the last of the constraints and pushed himself to his feet. "You really should be more careful where you aim, then. I guess I should thank you."

His opponent watched warily as Zoro reached for his swords, taking a stance, but adding, "You're half dead, Roronoa - it hardly matters if you are free now."

The swordsman pressed a hand to his beaten in chest, the wounds underneath the skin still searing with pain, his internal bleeding leading him to blossom giant flowers of bruises across his torso. He could feel the cracked bones and was aware of the fact he could hardly drag air into his lungs anymore. But at the man's words, he couldn't help but laugh. "Half dead?" he said. "Maybe." He raised Wado Ichimonji and placed it between his teeth, and then untied the bandana on his arm, wringing it out from blood before securing it on his forehead. "But that also means I'm half alive...and that's more than enough for me to kill you."

The words aggravated his opponent, who charged and raised his leg to rain down a kick, but his movements were painfully slow to Zoro's eyes. He even had time to frown at the bulky strength in the man's legs - Sanji's lean muscular structure was much better suited for such fighting techniques. His enemy was slow, inflexible, overburdened, and weak. He blocked the kick with the edge of one blade, and the sharpness of Shuusui bit into the man's callused foot, keeping him locked in the position with a leg in the air. From underneath his bandana, a sadistic grin spread across Zoro's face.

"You are full of openings," he told the man. He had a moment to watch the eyes across from him grow wide in surprise, but before a retort could be made, Zoro spun, creating a scythe of blades in the air, twisting upward - it was a current that caught his opponent up in it, a tornado of cutting edge that tore apart the man from Achilles tendon to jugular artery. Zoro sheathed his blades in one fell swoop as he staggered away, not watching for the heavy impact of the bleeding mass as it hit the floorboards and crashed, down through the deck, further, until he eventually landed many levels below.

"There is somebody in this world..." Zoro coughed up a smattering of blood and wiped it away, "...whose kicks are far stronger than yours." He glanced over his shoulder at the broken deck behind him, and then cast his eyes around for the missing cook.

"He's a pain in the ass, though," the swordsman added, and he stumbled away in search of his lover.

ZOSAN

Sanji came into awareness that he was being kissed. He would have smiled had he the energy for it, but right now he was floating in a haze of half-finished thoughts on the edges of consciousness. He sensed the touch on his blood-and-wine lips and for once, he did not imagine a woman at the other end...he saw Zoro, tender care in his dark eyes as he imagined the swordsman brushing away a strand of his blond hair, running his knuckles down the side of Sanji's face, coaxing his lips into a kiss. The cook sighed and began to sink into the sensation...

..._those lips aren't Zoro's._

Fighting the blackness that threatened to smother him, Sanji forced his eyes open and watched as they widened in horror around the image they found. His assailant was so close he looked blurred, but Sanji could see the side of his hideous face as he pressed his thin, chapped lips toward the cook's own, his sharp tongue licking and tracing over the crease between Sanji's lips. With the sight, Sanji felt his gut roil in agony as it tried to dislodge any meals from that day, he felt his skin crawl as though a thousand spiders had landed on him, he felt the urge to wash out his mouth with acid and fish oil, anything to get rid of that taste... He felt disgusted, violated, trespassed upon, and above all of this, he was furious.

The cook felt his arm move - he lifted it and snatched a heavy handful of the man's hair, pulling him back from Sanji's own face with a sick smacking sound. The man's eyes drew to the size of dinner plates as he realized that the cook was still conscious. Sanji narrowed his own eyes and a darkened shadow overtook his face as he began to stand, his other hand reaching out and deftly snapping the wrist that held his sword, cracking the bones. The sword clattered, useless, to the floor. The cook kept his left hand threaded in the assaulter's hair as he rose, eventually lifting the man off of his feet.

"That's bad manners," he informed the man, who was writhing, trying to free himself, reaching for his sword with his good hand. Sanji scoffed and tossed the man, flinging him like a rag doll against a set of barrels, which shattered on impact. The swordsman lay in the wood scrapings, dazed, staring at Sanji who approached him, lighting the crushed cigarette he had stuck in his mouth.

"And I'll have you know, you son of bitch..." Sanji said, taking a drag, "...that I'm a taken man, so you need to keep your distance."

His opponent looked up at him with hazed over eyes, cradling his broken wrist. "So you _are_ fucking Roronoa, huh?"

These words did nothing to quell Sanji's anger, and only served to fuel it. He raised his leg in the air, clothed in the black of his pants, so long it seemed to disappear from vision, an executioner's axe pointing at the sky - "No, you shitty bastard, _I'm married_."

And he lowered it, bringing to down with the force of a train concentrated on one fine point, the hub of his heel, which sent the man crashing down through the floorboards, opening up a hole in the ship, and the man went further still, down until he hit the water below, sinking with his broken jaw disfiguring his ugly face even more still. The cook leaned over the hole and spit into the water.

"And he's a better swordsman than you'll ever be. Compared to him, your sword is a piece of shit."

Fight done, Sanji went to wipe his taxed hands on his pants, which he found were stained wet with red wine. He frowned and then tucked them in his pockets, still smoking his cigarette, sloshing up water as he walked to the stairway. The cook looked behind him at the mess and commented aloud, "I guess I should get everybody off the ship I'm sinking..."

He placed his foot on the first stair and the world seemed to spin, all going black at once. He blinked and fought to stay conscious, but the blood loss was too much, so his leg gave out. Half-kneeling on the stairs, he placed his hands out in front of him, holding himself up with his feeble arms, and looked up the passageway toward the light. Sanji could still hear the fighting and the rampaging up there - raised voices, clashing steel, the smacks of flesh hitting flesh.

Then there, in the doorway, was the silhouette, and the cook felt his stomach drop. The man had two swords drawn and was descending the stairs already at breakneck speed. The cook had no more energy left and was sick of fighting swordsmen that the stupid moss boll should have handled by now. He placed his elbow on his knee and began to push himself up, saying - "where's that shitty swordsman when you need him."

The darkened figure stopped short halfway down the stairs and sheathed both of his blades. Sanji snorted - the guy didn't think he was even worth enough to fight with his blades? He watched as the man walked down slower now, taking one step at a time, until a single, callused and tanned head appeared at the edge of Sanji's vision.

"Miss me, curly cook?"

Sanji's blue eyes followed the hand to the ripped arm with pounding biceps, then the scarred shoulder, and finally, up his broad neck to the perfect, angular face he was looking for - a man with tufted green hair, dark eyes, and a cocky smile that made the cook want to kick him through a wall. He lifted his own hand and placed it in Zoro's own, feeling the fingers of the swordsman close around his, as he said, "Like hell I do, you fucking marimo. Why are you here? Got lost again?"

Zoro pulled Sanji up and looked up him and down. "Why are you covered in blood? Got another nosebleed?" he teased. But despite his remarks, he wrapped his strong arm around Sanji's waist, holding him close so that way they could work up the stairs together, one step at a time.

Sanji frowned at the swordsman, who limped as they stepped up and was breathing heavily. He slipped his own arm around the man, lending Zoro his support as well. "Just a third rate swordsman who needed to jerk off more."

Beside him, his favorite swordsman laughed, tossing his head back - his loud laugh, honest and bright and carefree, a laugh that he rarely showed, and usually only when he was drunk. It was breath-taking to Sanji, as he watched the man's eyes light up, free from all that heaviness and seriousness that often clouded them. "I had a guy who couldn't kick to save his life."

The cook wanted to taunt back, to make fun of the fact that he spoke little of an opponent who had clearly rendered him internal damage. He wanted to slap Zoro on the back where it must be hurting, and he wanted to trip the man and get him wet in the waters seeping up from below. None of it was cruel and nor would it have mattered in the long run. But Sanji found his hands were doing very different things at the moment. They were raising, shaking, again - he needed to stop shaking, how could he cut vegetables like this? - and finally landed on either side of Zoro's face.

The swordsman's smile faded slowly as Sanji grabbed him, and after it did, the amusement still ghosted there for a second or two. He watched like a hawk as the cook grasped him, calculating, Sanji knew, each muscle movement, so he knew where the cook was going to go before he did so. And that was why Sanji wasted no time in leaned forward and landing his own lips on Zoro's in a chaste, quick kiss.

As he pulled back, he watched the swordsman's face for a reaction, but there was none. Nervous, voice sputtering, Sanji heard himself say, "Sorry, had this awful taste in my mouth."

And that was when he realized that he was pressed up against the wall of the stairwell, water playing with the hems of his pants, callused hands pressed into each of his shoulder, one digging painfully into his wound, and before him leered the face of Roronoa Zoro, who looked strained to the point of madness. Zoro started to laugh, and then he shook his head, growling, and for a moment looked as though he was about to break down crying.

"You stupid shitty cook," Zoro chuckled under his breath. "God, I fucking hate you so much, you have no idea..." Sanji watched as he clenched his fingers together, trying to compose himself, attempting to wind himself back together. Eventually succeeding, Zoro looked up, eyes blazing with some sort of determination that the cook couldn't place.

"I'm not looking for a fuck, Sanji," the swordsman growled out. "I don't want a late night blow job in the kitchen or a hand job in the hold." He gripped Sanji's good shoulder and slammed him against the wall as if to make his point clearer. "I...I don't know what happened in my absence to you or between you and the other me..." his face twisted into a heavy grimace as he continued, "but something _did _happen to me while I was away." He looked up and met Sanji's eye, and then took one hand and pushed back the cook's hair from his brow so he could see both of them, both seas of blue, topped with mismatched eyebrows. The swordsman could not help but pause and smile tenderly at the handsome face in his hands, a face that was looking at him with unconcealed shock.

"What happened was that I realized I -" he choked on the words, but forced them out in the form of a whisper, "I love you." Zoro shook his head, trying to dislodge his fear, and placed a finger over Sanji's lips to keep him from talking. "And not like nakama or friends or rivals or anything - I mean, as in...as in..." he cursed, "as in I think you are wonderful and rare and precious...you're like everything that's good in this world in one person, one beautiful person, and...no, no that's not right, it's more like..."

Zoro cupped Sanji's face in his hands, letting his thumbs rest right underneath Sanji's blue eyes, and stared into them for a moment, trying to find purchase, trying to find the right words to say, but all he felt was that he was falling in deeper and deeper in the oceans that lay there, the writhing tides of emotions and beauty and everything that Sanji had to offer, because Sanji could offer everything in the world, almost like -

"Sanji, you're my All Blue."

Sanji gasped audibly, and then started growling, wrapping his fingers up in Zoro's short green hair, clenching so hard it probably pulled at the roots. "Tell me you're lying," he insisted. "Tell me this is dream. I can't take having my heart broken again."

But Zoro would have none of it - those hands that gripped him were actually pulling him forward, those lips that denied him were actually begging to be kissed, and he knew, deep in his soul, that they had already decided, that it had already been resolved between the two of them, and somehow, they had both known of each other's feelings without speaking it. So it was without another word, with water up to both of their knees now, that they crashed into each other, like a wave on the shore. The wave broke, white foam spewing, coating the land with its salty waves, drenching the sand and eroding it deep back into the infinite ocean. They kissed, but it was more than that, much more as their tongues tried to do what their souls could not, dancing together, touching and tasting and entering one another. They did not kiss like a man and a woman, or like any two other lovers in the world, but rather like two pirates, hard warriors of the sea, who took without regret and left nothing but destruction in their path.

"Zoro..." Sanji breathed out between the kisses, his hands still gripping the nape of the swordsman's neck, driving him deeper into his body.

"Sanji..." Zoro gasped, his hands now on the cook's waist, becoming stained with Sanji's blood as he caressed the tattered remains of the man's shirt.

"No, marimo, really," Sanji gently pushed the edge of Zoro's shoulder, and they broke apart. "The ship is sinking."

Zoro looked down, and saw the water getting dangerously close to his hips, rising steadily - he heard the commotion above, now oddly coming to a lull. There was no more cannon fire. It almost sounded like the enemy was trying to retreat. "Huh," he commented. "I guess we should go."

The cook smacked his lover upside the head. "You think, idiot moss ball?"

The swordsman just laughed, as though no disaster in the world could bother him now. He kept one hand on Sanji's waist and pulled, and the cook complied, slipping his arm back around Zoro's hip, and they started their awkward ascension back up the steps, working in time together to support each other in their injuries.

"You taste like wine," Zoro commented off handedly.

Sanji chuckled. "I kicked a barrel open."

"You wasted alcohol?"

"Oi! That's not the issue here!"

Zoro cast a look over his shoulder and the hold below, which was completely immersed. "I wonder if there's anymore booze down there..." he said longingly.

"You are not going back for booze."

"Says who?"

"Says me, now get a move on."

The swordsman frowned. "You aren't my captain."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sanji looked at him through one eye, trying to send Zoro his most withering glance. "I don't want to pull the card, Zoro. It's too soon to pull the card."

"What card."

"The _I won't have sex with you if you do that _card!"

"Yohohohohoho!"

Both men's eyes flashed only five steps upward, at the entrance of the stairway, where a tall, thin skeleton was framed by the sunlight, twirling his cane and tipping his top hat. Brook flashed them a wild grin and then pointed the tip of the cane over their shoulders at the rising waters below.

"That's a scary thought, Sanji-san!" he joked, "But what's scarier is that water rising up! Looks like this ship is about to sink!"

"You think?" Zoro growled at him, stomping up the last few of the stairs with Sanji in tow.

Sanji reached the top and raised a leg to place it against Brook's throat, pinning up against the doorframe. "You, pervert skeleton!" he snarled. "You heard nothing of that conversation!"

Brook looked away whistling. "How can I hear when I don't have any ears? Yohohohoho!"

"I'm going to kill him!"

"You can't, I'm already dead!"

"Shitty skeleton!"

From deeper on the main deck they had just reached, Luffy smiled, steadying his hat on his head as he watched his crew converse in the doorway. Both of his star crew mates looked a little worse for the wear, but it was nothing Chopper couldn't patch up. What worried him was the fact that both Zoro and Sanji were very wet from the waist down...

"Did you guys go swimming?" he called over the injured bodies strewn between them.

Zoro looked up at his captain, then down at his condition. "No, the ship's sinking."

"WHAT?" Luffy yelled. And then he fell back, leaning on the rail for support, clapping his hands. "Great idea, guys! Come on, let's get off and then sink this ship!"

Those of the enemy crew who were still conscious were tied to the mainmast, screaming and crying for mercy. "No!" they called out, "Don't do it, please! We won't take the blond guy, just let us live!"

"We aren't going to kill you," Robin said smoothly, tightening the knots that secured them to the post. Sanji noted the disgusting man named Lee was in the middle of his men, completely unconscious, drool dripping from his broken mouth, a nasty, bloody bruise overtaking his face. "We're just going to sink the ship you are on. If you manage to untie yourself and then swim to safety, you will survive."

She wiped her hands lightly on her skirt and tapped his chin with one finger. "It's highly unlikely, though. You'll probably die."

This did nothing to appease the enemy crew, but Robin could care less, as she had already turned her back and begun to walk away. "Captain, could you -"

"Yosh!" Luffy turned and stretched a leg out, creating a bridge back to the Sunny, where Franky was making some SUPER poses at them, congratulating them on their victory, and Chopper was jumping up and down on the railing, doctor's back secured on his back, biting his lip nervously.

Brook, Robin, and Usopp all crossed - the latter taking his time, tripping once and stumbling for a good minute before he regained balance - but Zoro lingered behind, and Sanji, questioning it, lingered also.

"Marimo?" the cook asked.

"Go on ahead, Luffy," Zoro said. "Sanji and I will get back on our own." He cast his eyes around the crew and the ship. "Besides, you can't swim." And then, in a surprising gesture, he lightly clapped the cook's shoulder. "And this is our ship to sink."

Luffy looked over his shoulder at the two men behind him. "You guys are better now, huh?" he asked.

Sanji scoffed and rolled his eyes, which his captain took as a _yes_.

"It's not going to be easy," Luffy commented. "We don't live safe lives. And pirates don't get married." He shrugged. "Normally, at least."

"Since when were we normal, Captain?" Zoro asked with a cocky grin.

"And easy is boring," Sanji responded. "Right, shitty swordsman?"

"I don't know, I get the impression you're pretty easy, curly-cue, if you know what I mean..."

"Oi!"

With a laugh and the sound of rubber snapping, their Captain took their bickering and banter as a sign that they knew what they were getting into, and he took his leave, flying back toward the deck of the Sunny and hitting Nami straight on, which would probably be detrimental to his health in the long run. Meanwhile, the two left on the deck faced each other, understanding clear in their eyes as they made contact.

"Hold on," Sanji said. He walked toward the men tied to the mast, who cowered at the sight of him, but the cook made a straight line for Lee. He tucked his hands in the man's pockets, and pulled out a thin slip of paper, which had the name _Blackleg Sanji_ written on it in a messy scrawl. He stumbled away with it between his two fingers and held it up to Zoro. "Want it?"

The swordsman shook his head. "Burn it," he said, indicating Sanji's lighter. "I don't need anything in the world to help me find you."

The cook grinned, pulled out his lighter, and lit the paper on fire. Both of them watched as the piece went up in flames, and Sanji did not drop it until it nearly seared his fingers, and then he cast it into the ocean, where it sizzled, and disintegrated into nothing more than ash and dust. He then climbed up on the railing of the main deck and tapped his shoe on the wood. "Hurry up, marimo, before I bleed out over here."

Zoro nodded, and drew his swords, placing one between his teeth. He walked to the other end of the deck, and then pivoted, facing the cook, and charged straight at him. Sanji grinned, watching his lover move, and he knew exactly when to step, exactly how the swordsman was going to land on the arc of his foot - and as he did so, Sanji kicked, sending the swordsman high, up into the sky, propelled by his kick. He stayed for a moment to see the beautiful, artful way that Zoro danced with his swords, to watch the beginning of the movements that would soon wreck the ship he stood on, before he closed his eyes, and allowed himself to fall backward into the sea, knowing that both the ship and the swordsman would be joining him soon.

And he did. Sanji disregarded the crashing and cracking of wood, the split ship sinking to its death meters from him. He ignored the men who struggled to free themselves and grab planks of flotsam to stay afloat. He closed his eyes and let the feeling of the sea wash over him, the tickle of a fish's tail playing over his bare, wounded torso. He left his arms float freely in front of him, and very slowly opened his eyes to the blue world surrounding him. He saw the wreckage in passing, and emerging from it, a toned, beautiful, tanned man, his green hair tossed by the currents, his hands empty of his swords now.

The cook smiled as Zoro's hand touched his own. They both fought to hold their breathe as they looked at each other, between two ships, one the defeat of their enemy, the other their home and the place of their family. Once up on the surface, they knew it would be a long way toward forming a new life, a life together, and a lot of hard work. But they could not bring themselves to contain the excitement that welled between them right now, the thrill of finding something they never knew they needed or even wanted.

Fingers now intertwined, bodies close together, their lips brushed each other, and Sanji kicked them both toward the surface, toward the sun.

_Disclaimer: Not the end. Falling action, brosters. Cool your jets. I'm moving back to university, so I've got a lot of things going on._

_I know this chapter is sort of all over the place, I expect you guys to be dissatisfied, and I apologize, but it just sort of came out this way. I guess I'm loosing my touch. Meh. Read and review regardless!_


	36. Chapter 36

**Disclaimer: If I owned One Piece, I would have been killed by now by the force of ten thousand ravenous fans. Thankfully, I just write shitty fanfiction. So enjoy!**

"_Who...the fuck...are you, you son of a bitch?" Zoro snarled._

_From behind him, a laugh tinkled lightly - fufufufu._

Zoro felt his blood run cold at the sound of the laughter. It was dry, chilling, confident. It had been a long time since Zoro had felt such unrestrained fear for not just the others in his life, but his own life. He craned his neck and edged around, the only noise the shuffling of his trousers as he did so. The enemy was a shadow behind him, looming as it slowly came into focus.

Tall, unbelievably tall, and bulkier than his actual body was because of a flamboyant, hideous feathered pink coat that the man was wearing. He was blond, tan, and perched on the bridge of his angular nose were a set of tinted-purple sunglasses that obscured his eyes. His shirt was unbuttoned to the navel, revealing a pristine and toned chest. The man bent at his knees, coming on to his toes in his heeled shoes to look Zoro in the eye as he continued to chuckle, holding one hand in the air, his fingers twitching and bending unnaturally and threateningly, as though he were playing with a set of strings.

"You know who I am, Roronoa," he said with a smirk. "Donquixote Doflamingo."

The swordsman coughed and wiped the stray blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "So you're the puppet master behind this business," he accused. "Didn't expect you to be onboard."

Doflamingo's chuckling ceased, and he frowned visibly. "I wasn't planning on it," he admitted. "It's not like I was trying to protect my assets." He gestured to the fallen bodies around them lazily, as though they were bits of discarded trash. "I only showed up because I received and interesting message about the friends you were bringing along." He pointed a long, dexterous finger directly in Zoro's face, which antagonized the swordsman immensely. "To be honest, I could not have been bothered by your little vendetta, Roronoa. Don't take it personally."

_Friends..._ Zoro touched the top of Sanji's head and listened closely to the sound of the cook breathing. "Not personal?" he choked out, the words sounding venomous as they fell from his lips. "Then what do you call what you did to my husband?"

The puppet master leaned about Zoro's form to peak a look at Sanji, whose hands were twitching already, gripping at the floor soaked with his own blood as he struggled toward consciousness. "I did nail those troublesome feet to the floor, the pretty boy wouldn't stop kicking," he said, "But I believe the majority of the damage was inflicted by you, Roronoa. I had no hand in this."

Zoro growled and made to get up, but a sharp pain that ripped through his chest kept his movements as bay, and he collapsed on one knee, reaching toward the man just out of his reach. "Bullshit," he cursed, "You knew exactly what you were doing!"

Doflamingo lazily slapped away Zoro's outstretched hand as though the swordsman were but a child. "You sure are a feisty one, aren't you?" he teased.

The words were ignored. Zoro squinted through the pain at the businessman, trying to place his motives, trying to understand him, but coming up blank. "I don't understand," he finally admitted. "You knew we were coming, and yet you did nothing to protect your business and customers? We've already robbed you of your cargo..."

But the man was laughing again. "Human trafficking is a thing of the past, Roronoa," he explained. "I was glad to be rid of this troublesome side venture, and you did a nice job of cleaning it up for me. If anything, I should be thanking you."

He reached down and grasped the chin of Zoro's face, and the swordsman tried to tear himself away, but the man's hands and hold were both too immense and strong for him to break free. He had to suffer the creeping touch of the fingers as they pushed up on the corners of Zoro's thin lips, stretching his skin uncomfortably. "It's the age of _smiles_, you see," he taunted, his voice sickeningly sweet, "Smiles!"

A coldness descended upon the hall, and for once it had nothing to do with the rage building up within the swordsman. He felt the hands leave his face, and both him and Doflamingo cast their eyes around frantically, trying to find the source of this fierce-some presence. Down, past Sanji's prone form, were two figures at the end of the hallway. From one, the taller, came the _click_ of a pistol's safety being released. From the other, shorter, came the sound of cracking knuckles, as they pounded their fists together before their hunched body.

"Luffy!" Zoro gasped, never more delighted to see the ragged boy, who was relatively unmarked from the battle he had emerged from. From behind him, Doflamingo rose back to his full height.

"The Strawhat boy," the man assessed. "Exactly who I wanted to see." He squinted at the second figure, "But who is that with you?"

The second man stepped into the flickering light of the hallway, twirling his gun by the trigger as he sauntered forward. His tuft of blond hair was still perfectly arranged, his shirt without rips, tears, or shreds, but left undone to show the bright insignia tattooed across his lean chest. His grecian sandals squeaked as he walked forward, and from behind him, Zoro heard the deep intake of breath from the man who towered there. It was momentary, and quickly recovered from, but the swordsman smiled as he recognized it. Doflamingo was currently facing the unexpected, and he was afraid.

"Long time, no see, yoi?" Marco greeted. His lifted his muscled arm, pointed the barrel of the gun straight over Zoro's shoulder at the enemy's pounding heart. "I guess you didn't think I'd be coming to the party, huh, Doflamingo?"

"Marco the Phoenix," the opponent acknowledged him. "It certainly is a pleasure. Where's that old man you are usually so attached to?"

Marco chuckled and shrugged. "My old man is here and there. To be honest, I wouldn't have wasted a Friday evening with the likes of you, but..." he nodded at Luffy, who had joined Zoro at Sanji's side, rolling the cook over and gently trying to lead him back into wakefulness. "But my friend wanted me to help out his little bro, yoi. So I dropped by. Hope you don't mind me coming over uninvited."

Doflamingo shook his head. "Not at all. The Whitebeard Crew is always welcome." The warmth of his welcome was iterated by the fact that he was again raising his hand in a threatening motion, as if already starting to weave a web to catch the blond man.

"Good," Marco said. "We have a lot of catching up to do." He cast his glance at the trio on the floor. By now, Sanji had opened his eyes, the blue unfocused but slowly landing back in reality as he blinking his bruised facial muscles, his dilated pupils shrinking as he focused on the face above him. Hanging over him, having collected his head into his lap, was Zoro, his own face twisted in concern as he pushed the hair back from Sanji's face. Both of his curled, asymmetrical eyebrows revealed, Sanji scowled immediately, but when he spoke, his voice was full of longing and affection.

"Marimo?" he asked quietly.

"I'm here," the swordsman replied. "You didn't miss anything fun, shitty cook, don't worry."

Sanji's lips twisted into a painful smile. "Good," he said. "Sorry, I took a nap in the middle of all this action. You're rubbing off on me."

Luffy cut into the conversation, pressing his hand forcefully into the wound on Sanji's back, trying to stem the blood flow. "We need to go," he whispered urgently.

Both the cook and the swordsman looked up at him, eyes wide with shock. "What?" they gasped. Although they had never fought beside Luffy before in such a situation, they were aware he was not the type to retreat. The boy in the strawhat would fight even beyond the point of his own death, because he had true belief and conviction in his own strength. His order left them floored, and they stopped their moments of struggling to their feet, arms wrapped around each other's waists.

"We need to go," Luffy repeated, and he pointed at Marco, who nodded at them stiffly. "Marco is going to hold the pink feather man off. We've got to catch the escape boat." He tugged at Zoro's hand, but the fingers slipped loose since they were covered in so much blood. "Come on, let's go. We're going to meet up with everybody else in New York. Let's _go_, Zoro."

The swordsman took one step forward, following the lead of the man he had begun to call Captain in his head. He felt Sanji delay, still holding his ground, looking desperately and with a shaking, unsettled anger at the man who had nailed him down, who had shot his husband, who had tricked his lover into cutting the cook down. But at the insistent tug of his friend, he began to walk, searing pain striking through him with every step, inching up to chill the wound on his back with still bled freely, leaving splatters of red behind him. As they darted from the corridor, their hands intertwined like a string of children, they heard Marco open fire, but above the sound of the echoing gunshots they could hear the cold voice of Doflamingo as his vow followed them, chasing their footsteps as they ran -

"You can run, Strawhat, but you can't hide from me!" he promised. "I've got my strings everywhere, and I'll make sure to tear you apart!" They heard him pause as he dodged and attack by the phoenix, but he added more, and as he spoke, Zoro felt his stomach drop, leaden and heavy, his heart lost in the broken cavity of his chest.

"Good luck trying to start a family, faggots, after I'm done with you!"

And he laughed.

Zoro and Sanji and Luffy continued to run, but the laughter rang in their ears, the only thing they could hear as they tore through their enemies, fighting amongst their pain, pushing their muscles to their limits as they climbed countless stairs. The men did not turn to each other, they did not look each other in the eyes, but Zoro could feel the dread set in with each step, he could feel the hopes and dreams he had created falling behind him, leaving stains on the ground like Sanji's blood. Doflamingo's warning was like the bullet embedded in his chest; it was a cold, cruel reality, a reminder that although they ran, although they fought, there was a part of them that Doflamingo had sunk his nails into, and the puppet master was not going to let go.

Luffy slammed right through a set of metal doors and the trio burst into the fresh sea air of the evening. For a moment, Zoro's vision flittered everywhere, as he took in the thousands of stars, the quiet lapping of the waves, the inky blackness of the sky that surrounded a full moon. He stumbled in his steps, overcome by a primal longing for that world he had visited, a world where he could be with Sanji and be free from this mess they had gotten into, a world where there was no paperwork or hoops to jump through, a world where monsters like Doflamingo didn't exist.

Was there even such a world? The swordsman doubted it.

"Where's the boat, Luffy?" Sanji asked hoarsely. Zoro cast his eyes back toward reality and caught a glimpse of his lover, who was wiping the sweat and blood from his brow with the swordsman's own black bandana, and then cleaning off his hands so he could better grip the butt of his pistols. "Are we even on the right side?"

Luffy looked around the deck, which had been left abandoned due the pandemonium that had broken out. The passengers had fled, leaving their belongings cast aside, toppling a set of outdoors tables further toward the aft. Zoro lifted his boots to realize he was walking on shattered champagne glasses. Despite the wreckage, the area was deafeningly silent, and that was when Zoro realized in the pit of his stomach that his group of friends had likely killed everybody on board...a cruise liner, and not one survivor... It was unlike them to do away with innocent civilians, such as the kitchen workers of the sailors - but then the swordsman recalled that awful man with his cruel chilling laugh.

Of course he would want to erase his tracks. Of course he would eliminate the evidence. In fact, Zoro would be shocked if the ship was still floating in ten minutes from now. It was not unlike a crime lord to take down an entire ship just to erase any investigation into the event. A thousand dead when a ship sunk? A tragedy, but questions were directed toward faulty mechanics, not the underworld of human trafficking.

"We don't have much time, Luffy!" Zoro insisted after realizing this truth. 'We need to get off this ship, now! Where are they? Where's our boat?"

"There!" Luffy said, completely sure of himself, pointing off in a random diagonal direction from their location, over the deck's edge. "If we don't have time, we'll just have to jump!"

"Jump?" Sanji shouted, incredulous. "Luffy, the drop is -"

But it was too late. Zoro felt the pressure of his lover's body pressed against his own, and only had one moment to wrap his arm around Sanji's shoulders protectively, holding the man's blond head to his chest, as he felt the immense force and inertia of the young boy, Monkey D Luffy, wrapping his arms around the two of them and forcibly dragging and tugging them to the edge. The swordsman felt himself loose his feet from beneath him, and he could not help but let out a breathy laugh as they flew through the air, across the deck, over the railing, free-falling above the cold waters of the Atlantic. He looked about, and saw Luffy before them as they fell, pointing excitedly at the lights of the boat waiting for them below, their remaining friends waving and calling out to them. Then he looked over at the cook, who appeared as though he was about to be a bit sick, who met Zoro's eyes, sighed, shook his head, and smiled softly.

"You wouldn't have it any other way, would you?" he asked the cook.

Sanji never had the opportunity to reply, though, because upon impact with the deck of the ship, both of the wounded men promptly lost consciousness, their nervous systems shutting down completely as a thousand pain receptors went off simultaneously. They landed sprawled out, desperately clinging on to their weapons, mortally wounded, and both with lips twisted upward in a smile, because no matter how bad it was, they were sure they would be okay.

Because the battle was over, and they were together again. There would be other battles, without a doubt, but it was nights like this that made them cherish the moments they did have together so desperately. And they had the rest of their lives to be together to create more treasures.

Or so they believed.

ZOSAN

"Roronoa, wake up, or so help me God, I will punch your bloody wound right back open again."

Zoro's eyes flew open and he cast his head around wildly. "Huh? Morning already?"

Above him loomed the furious face of Captain Smoker, veins popping in his forehead as he chewed on the butt of a pungent cigar. "No, you idiot, it's dark out. You've been sleeping for more than two days."

The swordsman came into consciousness enough to analyze his surroundings. He was lying in a hospital bed, half-propped up, in a private room near the window, which revealed that it was indeed dark outside. His three swords were cleaned and leaning against the far wall, his bandana tied around Wado Ichimonji's hilt. He felt the familiar tight, constricting tug of bandages around his torso and frowned.

At his bedside was Smoker, who had opened the window so he could blow his smoke out of it, sitting on an uncomfortable looking armchair, his face shadowed by a scowl. And standing in the far left corner of the room was a man that Zoro had seen only once before, a man of immense height and bulk, a man with a blank face, eyes shadowed by a hat and his mass of curly black hair.

Bartholomew Kuma.

"Where am I?" he demanded.

"A hospital in Northern Jersey. Your friend, Tony Tony Chopper is the main reason you are even breathing right now. The bullet would have killed you normally," Smoker answered for him. His face was stern, but the concern for one of his best assassins was shining through his expressive eyes.

"Where is he? I'd like to thank him," Zoro responded.

Smoker didn't respond.

"And Sanji? Where's he? Is he okay?"

"Your husband is in stable health," Kuma responded in dulcet tones from his spot by the doorway.

Zoro sat up, ignoring the grinding pain that ran through his insides as he did so. They clearly were hiding things from him. Two governmental officials were there at his bedside rather than the friends he had just fought beside. Zoro could find no reason why they were not there with him, and these men did not seem eager to spit up the answers.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded of them.

Smoker grunted and tossed his cigar out the window, "I told you he wouldn't be inclined toward patience, Kuma. Best be out with it before he gets violent."

Kuma nodded his heavy hand and pulled forward the stack of papers he had clutched in his paw-like left hand. He flipped through them nosily, and Zoro's scowl darkened as he waited. Eventually, Kuma looked up and let the stack of papers fall once again in a cupped hand at his side.

"Due to the circumstances on the cruise ship _S.S. Sabaody_, a list of various personas have been transferred to be placed under the service of the Federal Witness Protection Program. You are included in this list of persons, Roronoa Zoro."

Zoro winced, rubbing the side of his head. "Shit," he murmured, "That's the opposite of what I wanted. That shit cook will be so pissed to have to move with me -"

"Please allow me to finish, Mr. Roronoa."

The swordsman looked back up blankly.

"Although I am usually not a liberty to reveal the information regarding other people in the program, I feel you have the right to know that you husband will not be joining you in your new relocation."

"What?" Zoro heard himself speak, but the words sounded distant to his own ears. "No, that's bullshit, they always keep family together -"

"You are correct," Kuma cut him off. "But your marriage, while legally recognized by the state, is a homosexual marriage, and thus not recognized under Federal law, which is the law the Witness Protection Program operates under."

Zoro stared up at the face of the dark man, trying to compose his own thoughts, trying to make sense of what he was saying. In the haze of his confusion, Smoker's clear voice cut in, tinged with a disgusting sound of what the swordsman belatedly recognized as sympathy.

"I know it's rough to hear, and I really tried to pull some strings to change it, but the files had already been processed, and they just wouldn't hear it. Legally, the best you and blondie have is a civil union, which isn't the same as a legal marriage..."

"Shut the fuck up, I know," Zoro spat. He leaned forward and clenched his hand in his hands, his fingers digging deep into the roots of his hair. "We were never...active in the gay rights community, but I know that much. I...shit...I should've gone to some fucking pride parades or _something_..."

"I doubt that would've changed anything, Roronoa," Smoker said. Zoro could feel the man's gloved hand hovering over his knee, as though he was going to pat it, but then he felt the weight of the presence pull back, and was glad. At the moment, the swordsman was very close to snapping. There was nothing fair about this situation. All he had right now were some stranger's words that Sanji was okay, his friends were...

"What about the rest of them?" Zoro suddenly asked. "Luffy, Franky, shit! Chopper, tell me Chopper isn't involved!"

Kuma shuffled his papers, and repeated, "I am not at liberty to disclose information about -"

"No! Those are my fucking friends, and it's my fault they got dragged into this mess! You tell me what you fed bastards are doing with them _right now_!"

"Roronoa, calm down!" Smoker insisted, standing up. He pointed out the door. "Sir, I'm going to ask you to leave now," he said, gritting his teeth together, his mouth bemoaning the loss of his cigar already. Kuma nodded his head and ducked out through the door, quietly shutting in behind him.

Once the door had clicked shut, Smoker sat back down and leaned in close to Zoro. "Look, I really shouldn't be telling you, but in my opinion, those bastards up top can eat shit." The Captain slammed his foot in frustration, and for a second, the swordsman saw that the man was actually emphasizing with his problem. "But you have a right to know what happened."

"I'm glad you agree. I think I have a right to go back to my life with my husband." Zoro did not feel like tolerating the antics and politics behind the situation. He was furious, tired, and starving for a full course meal courtesy of blond chef. He wanted to go _home_ damn it, not some third world country because the government thinks he'd be _safer_ there.

"I can't do that for you," Smoker answered, which was what the swordsman expected. "All I can give you is information. All we know is that the _S.S. Sabaody _sunk 50 miles offshore due to an inner malfunction, and there were no reported survivors." He lowered his eyes at Zoro. "Only Tashigi and I knew what you and your friends were planning. Nobody ever found out about it. But next thing we know, while you and your friends and being admitted here," he pointed at the floor of the hospital, "we get a private threat filtered toward our department, listing names." He opened his greying coat and fished out a paper - a crumpled, familiar looking paper. Zoro cocked his head at it.

"It's a list of names from a reference sheet, actually, that was taken from your car later that night. A list of names you and blondie set down as people the adoption agency could call for opinions on you as a couple, and actually relatively unrelated to the event."

Zoro snatched the sheet from Smoker's hand. Of course he recognized the sheet of paper - it had been the very same ones that he had nearly torn apart a few days ago in the car, when he realized the reality of what had possibly happened in his absence from the world. And there, on the sheet, were seven names, printed up perfectly -

_Monkey D Luffy, Nico Robin, Tony Tony Chopper, Cutty Flam, Nagahana Usopp, Felin Nami, _and _Soul Brook_.

"Along with those people, the Roronoa's, both Sanji and Zoro, were listed. Upon discharge from the hospital, each person was informed about their situation and escorted by the service to their temporary residences..."

"Tell me he wasn't discharged yet," Zoro growled, clenching his fist and reducing the paper to a ball.

"Oi, that's evidence!" Smoker snapped, swatting the paper from the swordsman's fist. "And...Zoro, your wounds were the most severe, and so -"

Zoro looked out the window, caught a glimpse of the time from the clock on the wall.

" - I'm sure that this will be over within a couple of months, and everybody will be moved back to their homes in the city..."

But the swordsman wasn't listening. He stood up, clutching his side, and made fast out the door of the room. He disregarded the bulky man on his tail as he tore through the corridors of the hospital, leaving confounded nurses and doctors in his wake, flinging open doors, peaking into the windows of each room, calling out.

"Oi! Curly brow! Where the fuck are you! It's time to go!"

When he reached the bathrooms, he barged in there too, demanding, "Stop doing your make-up, prissy princess! It's time to hit the road, shitty cook!"

He felt a heavy hand grasp his shoulder, but he violently shook it off. "Cook! Oi, cook!" he screamed, his voice escalating decibels as he likewise picked up his pace, racing through halls now, doubling back, completely lost.

"Sanji!"

Zoro could hear shouts of _Roronoa_ coming down the hallways, the heavy footsteps of Smoker as he tore after him, but he refused to give up, because he knew that there was no way that stubborn ass would leave without saying goodbye, there was no way in hell Sanji would let himself just be taken away -

"Your ass is showing, Marimo."

The swordsman stopped in his tracks, looking around wildly.

"Get that shitty self of yours in this cleaning closet before you get into more trouble, would you?"

Zoro's eyes flashed behind him, where he spotted the darkened door of a utility closet, just barely open, a stream of smoke bleeding from the crack in the door that was held with a shiny, black loafer. The swordsman could not help but smile as he walked up to the door and pushed it open, sliding inside the dark depths. In the dim lighting, he could barely see the two men that the cook had dispatched lying underfoot, one sitting in a mop bucket. But he could very clearly make out the features of a still bruised, patched-up face of one bonafide shitty cook, smoking a cigarette in a hospital janitor's closet, looking for all the world that he belonged right there.

"You're late," Sanji scoffed, shutting the door behind Zoro. "Did you get lost again?"

But the swordsman did not feel like responding verbally this time, because he was too busy clutching Sanji's wounded figure to his own, cradling his head viciously to his chest as he littered kisses all over the top of the cook's blond scalp. "Not on my way to you," he whispered, fearful of Smoker finding them, nervous about the future. Instead of thinking about it, he just pressed the cook into him closer, and Sanji did not complain although the hold was aggravating his wound, he did not even scoff at Zoro's desperate words. He just held fast, his hands resting on each of Zoro's hips, clutching like they were the only thing keeping him steady in this world.

"I'm never lost when it comes to you."

_A/N: Sappy? Probably because I'm slightly tipsy. Unresolved? Definitely. Not finished yet? No, but close. Sorry guys. I never said happy ending._


End file.
